


The Service of Hobbits

by NiteOwlNest



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Battle Couple, Battle Scenes, Blood, Dislike to Friends to Lovers, Dwarf/Hobbit Relationship(s), F/M, Female Hobbit Kicking Butt, Friendship, Heartbreak, Mostly Everyone Lives, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, extreme feels, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 00:26:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 236,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13446621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiteOwlNest/pseuds/NiteOwlNest
Summary: What is home? For Cori Houndberry, it was not the Shire. It could never be again. Then she stumbles upon a half-dead prince of Erebor, and everything she's ever known about love and home begins to shift.





	1. The Greatest Service of All

No one deserved this.

The day waned in an explosion of pinks and oranges over a battlefield, an innocent and beautiful display in contrast to the carnage beneath it. The smell of blood, metal, and rot thickened the air until the simple act of taking a breath was nearly impossible. Across the valley floor shaded by the tall canyon cliffs reaching high into the sky, hundreds upon hundreds of bodies rested where a blade or ax struck them down. The hard ground below them soaked in the black and red blood flowing together until the dirt itself had turned into hideous, gut-wrenching, dark sludge. It was much too quiet, as quiet as death itself.

Coronilla Houndberry did not want to be here right now. As much as it would have been the most unrespectable thing for her to turn and leave this place with no thought of it ever again--and she made an absolute deliberate habit of being as unrespectable as she could manage without making a fool of herself--cruelty had not become one of her many acquired traits. Though that, in turn, would shove the cruelty onto herself. Who could blame her for wanting to flee this endlessly disgusting and deplorable sight? Those who did not have the choice to remain or go as she did, she supposed. It was not entirely her fault that she had come across the grizzly scene, and she did not have to pay the price for it, thank you very much. The last thing she needed was to start pitying the dwarves' love of war.

But life was life. And, once more, she was not barbaric.

Tossing her fur hat back onto her head with a sigh, the young hobbit dropped the reins of her little grey pony into the dry grass and leapt down the shallow ledge into the winding trench cutting through the side of the canyon. This seemed like a sure-enough pass to the valley below where a few dwarves remained on the battlefield, searching for survivors. A disappointing task, one would realize if one were not too stubborn to let in the blinding light of the truth. As it would seem, the hunt had been unsuccessful; many gave up, resorting to carting off the deceased to begin the burial preparations according to their customs. A few, however, refused to accept that their brothers could be dead. Commendable perseverance, if hopeless.

The ledge from which she just came from must have been the orcs' position of power during the battle; pieces of rotten wood still forming a skeleton of some kind of machinery lay strewn about. Dirty cloth flapped about in the wind, and crudely shaped swords and weapons that would drive any dwarf to drink straight from the barrel still littered the ground. As she continued down the narrow pathway, Cori faltered a bit. Her eyes scanned the ground, furrowed in confusion. Dwarves who attempted to reach the orcs above had been cut off, forced to fight in close quarters. The result was as expected. But something was not right here. There were way too many dwarves left in his passage.

Few things were known of the subterranean race--fueling the thousands of hilarious misinterpretations of their nature that Cori smugly put to shame purely to spite the ignorance in the world--but one aspect they were extolled for was their respect for the dead and the strange ways they went about extending it. They were not prone to leaving their fallen beneath the stars, but rather laying them under stone where they believed their creator Aulë had hewn them from in the very beginning. But bodies, still piled on top of their comrades and their enemy, nearly blocked the pass, while the battlefield below had almost been swept clean. Cori pursed her lips and glanced back the way she had come. How accessible was this place from the valley?

With a grimace, Cori hopped over a young dwarf staring sightless into the sky, his face contorted in the horrified state he died in. His beard reached the middle of his chest and was matted with blood and dirt. Part of it was shorn off, and he surely died with the knowledge of that disgrace. _Pitiful,_ she thought. She reached down to slide his eyes closed, then carried on. The further down the trail she went, more bodies in similar states continued to clutter her way. It was difficult to guess the exact cause of their deaths, as they were practically drowning in their heavy, clunky armor. Some she recognized by symbols of the Iron Hills: the crest sticking up from the tops of their helmets was not hard to miss. The others she had not seen before, and decided to make an educated guess that they came from the Lonely Mountain. Wherever their allegiances were, they certainly put up enough of a fight to take as many monsters with them as they could. A cloth over her face did little to mask the stench of the orcs' rotting corpses; best to get a move on before she passed out.

Then she stopped. Her leaf-shaped ears twitched, begging her to turn her head just a bit. A rustling somewhere back the way she had come. No, a sigh. She froze, blue eyes moving swiftly amongst the bodies. It was not possible. But there it was again. A weak, pain-ridden breath in a place devoid of such a thing. "You're having a laugh," she whispered, moving slowly back up the pass, keeping one eye on her feet in case something decided to grab them. What were the chances of there being a survivor within this butchery? The thought had not occurred to her in the slightest. "Hello?"

Not a sound in reply. Nothing but a small flicker of movement. Just beneath the heavy body of an Iron Hills soldier, a well-concealed hand skimmed the dirt, searching for something. A finger barely twitched up, and without a second thought, Cori bolted up the hill. Heaving with a grunt, she threw all her weight into rolling the body. It budged only just a little, weighed down not just by the dwarf's brawny mass but also his solid armor. "Come on, buddy," she groaned, cursing all the way up to the sky and back down again whatever compelled dwarves to wear their weapons on their bodies instead. Bracing her feet against the wall of the pass, she pushed with all her might, a strained growl tearing out of her throat. Finally, gravity caught him and he tumbled the rest of the way. She slumped down, falling onto the exposed dwarf's chest with a sigh. Then she remembered he was probably seriously injured, and reared back as if she were burned.

Oh, Giver, he was so young. The boy could have just come of age not too long ago, maybe not even reached it yet. His youthful face covered in a surprisingly short beard with small braids trailing from his upper lip was masked in dirt and blood, some of which she could not say if it was his. She guessed his hair was supposed to be blond, but damp and soiled, it looked almost copper. A deep gash split his forehead just above his brow, though fortunately, the bleeding had stopped. A boiling anger rose up in the hobbit as she took in his poor creature. What would condone sending _children_ onto the battlefield? The dwarves were few enough as it was. Did they desire war so badly that they would throw themselves on the ax straight out of the womb?

"Hey," she called out in a steady voice, gently patting his cheek that looked undamaged, though it was only a guess. "Come on, now. I know you're in there."

The dwarf had not slipped back into unconsciousness since signaling her over. With much difficulty, his eyes slid open, peering unfocused toward the sky with a squint. He looked almost confused for a moment at the myriad of colors tinting the whole valley orange, then his face contorted in agony and he let out a deep groan that rumbled in his chest. He obviously wanted to move to relieve the pain, but his weary body would not allow the effort. It was then that he finally noticed the dark-haired woman leaning over him, and he blinked as if trying to pull himself from a mirage. Cori smiled hesitantly, wondering if it was entirely appropriate while the dwarf lay in what could be his death bed. "If something's amiss, sir, I'd hear of it now before you, say, bleed out."

He winced, trying to curl his leg up toward his body. Again, his strength came up short. "I'm...fine."

 _And I'm a goat herder._ "Let's not insist on testing out that infamous dwarvish durability. Anything broken? Punctured?" She searched his person and the ground around him, looking for anywhere blood could be seeping from. Though, with the battle ending several hours ago, he would probably be dead by now, if that were the case.

He answered with a third attempt at sitting up, which he finally succeeded after a quick assist from her. His thick armor certainly helped little in the matter. "No, nothing," he sighed breathlessly. He reached up to poke a finger at the cut on his forehead. "I was struck." He glanced toward the soldier who had pinned him down. "I...didn't have the strength to push him off. He threw himself onto me when I fell." His scowl born from deep thought fell into a frown of sorrow.

Now that was a loyal comrade. What on earth could have encouraged such a sacrifice? "Suppose it can't hurt to try to do some good in your last moments. He probably saved you from being discovered afterward."

Each breath he took came with a struggle. "I passed out again. Didn't wake until I heard you and saw your shadow pass by." He looked from the dirt between his boots to her face. His eyes trailed over her body, his head falling to the side in a bewildered tilt. "What...?"

"Cori Houndberry, fur-trading hobbit nomad, at your service." After a formal incline of her head, she worked at loosening his armor, most likely the cause of his difficulty in breathing. All the while, she tried holding back the scowl tugging at her face. There was no leaving him, not like this, not while she wanted to keep her conscience from battering her into flour granules. She could not leave him defenseless on this pass where any number of orcs could be lurking nearby, so she would have to take him to help instead. And just when she thought she was done dealing with dwarves for a time.

"Thank you, Miss Houndberry," he replied, a little stronger and a little more alert now. He caught her gaze, offering a small grin. "Who knows if anybody would've come this way?"

"That's a question better left to the imagination." If anyone ever did think to check this path, he may have succumbed to infection and thirst long before anybody traveled this route.

Having finally relieved him of the stiff metal and mail, Cori hooked his arm around her neck. With a heave, she pulled him upward. He tried to help, bless him, his shaky legs shuffling beneath his body for purchase despite the pain. With one hand on the canyon wall, he steadied himself on two feet. He winced when his left foot fell hard in front. "I think it's twisted," he panted.

She rolled her eyes upward. Well, that struck through her plan. The cliff was high and steep; for a passage this gradual to lead all the way to the bottom, it had to go on for ages or drop off suddenly, a feat that would take much time on two good legs. "Then we won't be heading for the valley this way," she puffed, turning him the way she had come. "I have a pony waiting at the top. I'll take you where you need to go." And slowly, the hobbit and the dwarf started their slow journey back up to the plateau. Most of it consisted of maneuvering through the bodies; going over them would have been much faster, but the dwarf would probably have qualms about that. More than once, he turned his head inward towards hers, eyes closed in silent prayer. He looked so aggrieved. "The orcs were defeated," she offered, embarrassingly pathetically. "Their deaths were not in vain, sir."

"Fíli," he growled as he took another wrong step. His face softened once the pain subsided. "I'm Fíli, son of Víli, Miss Houndberry. No need for ceremony."

She stopped, the breath caught in her throat almost choking her. _No ceremony. **No ceremony.**_ Valar curse it, this was Prince Fíli of Erebor. _Of all the confounding..._

"Are you all right?" he asked, trying to balance as she dug roots into the ground.

She snapped back from the coronary she was experiencing. "Um, yes, all is well." Now was not the time to think of what may happen to her if she were to be found with an extremely damaged heir of Durin's folk. Oh, no, the suspicion of dwarves was certainly nothing to be wary of.

Shadow was standing just as she left him, the little fleabitten grey lazily munching on the dried grass at the head of the trail. Cori set the dwarf down on a rock, noting how he gasped when his torso folded over. She stood on her toes, trying to see down in to the valley. "Do you think we could signal them?"

He shook his head, clutching at the dark green tunic hanging limply off his body. "They wouldn't be paying attention, with their eyes so focused on the ground as they are. We'll have to go down to them. We must tell them that other bodies are in that passage."

"You'll have to guide me down there," she said, her heart thumping furiously in her chest. The welcome she received down there would not be a warm one, most assuredly. While it may have been nice to think that they would thank her profusely for saving their much-beloved prince, her interactions with dwarves thus far have proven that no "outside" has good intentions toward them. If Fíli passed out again on their way down, she would have axes at her throat with no one to vouch for her. But what were her options? Letting him walk down there himself? He would crumble like gravel onto the ground within a few steps. _Killed by kindness. Not the worst way to go out, but definitely not what I had in mind._

"Come here, Shadow," she sighed, approaching her pony with a pat on the shoulder. He immediately pushed his nose into her palms, asking for the treats she carried in her pouch. She giggled. "Nope. You have to work for your reward first." Touching her boot to his leg, she pulled the reins back to curve his muzzle toward his chest. He gave to the pressure, willingly dropping to his knees and rolling onto his side until he was settled on the ground. "That's my best boy," she cooed, scratching his neck under his thick mane. The warmth gifted her hands relief from the cool bite of the winter breeze. Straightening up, she turned back to Fíli and held out her hands. "Your Highness."

He snorted, shaking his head with a big grin. Charming. That was not something she had often seen. "You hobbits always have something extraordinary up your sleeves, don't you?"

For a moment, his apparent intimate knowledge of hobbits caught her off guard, but then she remembered that good old Bilbo Baggins set out with the famed Company of Thorin Oakenshield to help the dwarves defeat Smaug and recover the Lonely Mountain. She would never have believed it if someone told her, but she saw him with her own eyes, the unfathomable phenomenon. It left her with the smoldering question of why he would take up an adventure out of the Shire (of all things), but he apparently left a good impression on the dwarves. "Keep watching. You might see some real magic later."

He chuckled, gasping at the painful spasm in his chest. With a strong hand on her shoulder, he slid his leg over the pony's back. Once he had settled into the saddle, she climbed on in front of him. "Hang on tightly." Once he secured his arms around her waist, she lifted the reins with a click of her tongue. Immediately, the grey hauled up onto his feet, shaking his fluffy mane out with a groan. Fíli protested loudly, but said nothing more once Shadow stilled. Well, that worked much better than she first thought. "I'll go slow."

"I've managed through worse," he said between gritted teeth. Cori rolled her eyes. He gave her no inclination to believe that since he leaned into her back, more fatigued than he was willing to admit. Maybe she should pick up the pace a bit; a wasted moment in getting him to a healer could mean all the difference. _Rushing to the chopping block_ , she thought morbidly, deciding not to be selfish in that moment and actually save someone's life.

The way down ended up being in the direction Cori had come from when ascending to the top of the plateau in the first place. It had landed her accidently at the head of the trail when she thought it would give her a more direct detour to the other side of the mountain. She had been mistaken. _Heavily_ mistaken. And now she was enjoying the consequences of her error by lugging a dwarf on the back of her faithful steed. She could very much sum up her entire life with one word: irony.

When they came out of a narrow archway and turned right, the skin on Shadow's withers quivered and he balked in his steady march. A nervous rumble of warning came from his nostrils. The stalwart little pony hardly gave a thought to a rabbit running out in his path; if he refused to go any farther, Cori knew it was time to listen to him. "What you got, boy?"

"Orcs," Fíli whispered in her ear, reaching around her to place a hand on the fists ready to lift the reins. "Listen."

In a brief moment of pause, the silence was broken by the alternating thumps of heavy footfalls, scraping armor, and gurgling growls off to the right, the direction they needed to go. It was moving closer at a pace that caught her off guard, and she steered Shadow to the left without thinking.

"They could be hanging around," Fíli told her, the impending threat bringing strength to his voice. "Head for the Mountain."

She yanked on the reins, keeping her dancing pony in place. That...was much worse than the small troop they were originally heading to. Much, _much_ worse.

But the snarling just around the corner forced her into making a decision. With a swift kick to the side, Shadow bolted down the short slope the other way, setting them on flat ground. It took very little encouragement to put him to a long-strode sprint. For a half-second, Cori almost pulled him back down again, remembering the state of her passenger and how his injury would probably get them killed. But he remained balanced behind her, one arm looped around her waist to help. His breath was as harsh as the pony's, but he made no sound or protest. There really was no other option than to keep going: when she glanced around to check on him, they had pursuers. Lots of pursuers, and all the grotesque, disfigured monsters had their sights on the fleeing pair. But they were not as swift as the little grey pony who had as much a mind to not get captured as his riders. Cori patted him on the neck. "Good boy!"

For several miles, they hustled through the knolls and marshlands connecting the Iron Hills to the Lonely Mountain, the night offering them cover. The wind clawed fiercely at their faces despite the protection of their scarves; winter was arriving and the snow would be soon to follow. Unaccustomed to the extra passenger bearing down on her, Cori grumbled beneath her breath as she struggled to remain balanced while Shadow picked his way through frigid pools and rocky hillsides. The pony also labored beneath the weight of two riders. Alarmed by the sweat in his thick coat despite the cool air, Cori pulled him down to an easy trot. But then that was too much for Fíli, so they fell into a restful amble. She turned her ear to their flank, waiting for the growl she was sure would rise up from the darkness. She had had a time or two in the past with orcs, and more than once, she was forced to go several miles to evade the surprisingly efficient tracking abilities of the filth. They were like bloodhounds with a fresh scent, and Fíli's blood, though dried, tainted the air in a way that only the orcs could detect. She wanted the warmth of a fire tonight desperately, but not if it would draw in the orcs. Then a weight plopped onto her shoulder, and she knew she needed more than Yavanna's help to get through this. She turned as much as she could in the saddle. "No grinding?"

He jerked back suddenly, and she felt the slightest twinge of guilt for waking him. Sliver-thin. He shook his head, his sweat-soaked strands dangling around his face. "Bruised, most likely. I'll be fine."

As if she would allow him to kill himself after bringing him this far. "We'll be riding into the night. You'll tell me if something feels wrong, won't you?"

He forced a weak smile. "Yes, Mum."

Attitude. Oh, yes, most certainly a prince.

Fíli did not try to sleep again, or he thought better of using her as a pillow if he did doze off. He would shift uncomfortably every now and again, searching for a better position to help his aching body. Horseback was no place to be looking for comfort. Cori knew that better than anyone. When the silence was starting to take over, reaching into Cori's mind with little tendrils begging to lure her to sleep, she blinked and looked over her shoulder. "How did you end up in that valley fighting the orcs?" She cared little, but better to let her curiosity ravish her than topple out of the saddle and take him with her.

He cleared his throat, a rather difficult task it sounded like, and Cori reached down to unlace her water skin from her saddle. He took it with a mumble of thanks and drank it dry. Cori sneered at it when he returned it, because that was the only one she had. Her own parched throat tickled annoyingly. "The orcs have been on our doorstep ever since we took back Erebor," he explained. "Persistent roaches. They've been annoying, but after the battle a year ago, we never saw any real threat coming from them. After the New Years celebrations, we received word that some regrouped and were marching on the mountain from the northeast. Lord Dain caught wind as well, and we set out to meet them. But when we got there, they had greater numbers than we anticipated; our army isn't fully replenished yet since dwarves are still coming in from the Blue Mountains every month."

"So you ran into the canyon," she guessed flatly.

He snorted. "No. We gained the upper hand, so _we_ pushed _them_ into the canyon, cutting off their escape and any reinforcements. Then we laid into them. It was going well for a time. When it was clear we were moving toward victory, I insisted to Thorin that I lead a group to take out the signal giving the orcs their commands. I was confident I could do it, and so was he. When we found that passage, I thought I struck gold. I only served up those soldiers on a silver platter." His voice, once full of triumphant eagerness, now dropped several decibels into a mumble smitten with disgrace. "Had I left well enough alone...anyway, Mother would've had a fit if I went down, too."

"I'm sure many would." She decided to play hostess again and offered him some dried meat from her bag. After all, he was a prince. Neglecting his needs may be some form of treason that would land her in a dwarvish prison. But that might be her fate anyway, so why not go the extra mile and try to reduce her sentence? "A king's heir can't be replaced."

"Ha! My brother would've found any means to resurrect me just so he didn't have to rule. I don't blame him." Then he tensed. "I hope he survived."

"Where was he during the battle?"

"With Thorin, so I suppose it's safe to say he lives. Still, I...can't help but worry. He is my younger brother, and though he gets into more trouble than he's worth, I love him. I can't imagine a life without him."

Cori glared at the horn of her saddle in confusion and frustration. This dwarf did not talk like he had a dwarvish crown waiting for him at home. He was open, relaxed. She could have been talking with one of her sisters over tea and there would be no difference. And he saw no stranger in her. Odd for a race of people so infamous for their "sleep with one eye open" policy. She braced against the ambush. She had no idea what kind of ambush, but there had to be some explanation for this behavior and she did not see it ending well for her. "You'll inherit a prosperous kingdom when it's your time. From what I hear, Erebor's ready to start trading again. Impressive after such a short time."

"Still smells of dragon in there." The sheer disgust in his voice made her grin. "But yes, it's starting to feel like a home. I think I can get used to the idea. I've begun making my own plans."

"You're well on your way then."

"What of you, Miss Houndberry? What plans do you keep?"

She bristled. What a humorous concept! She had not had plans for years. What use did she have for plans? They were usually foundations for a future. She had furs and the dust of the road in her present and foresaw no changes. "Not everyone has a throne waiting for them," she blurted out, immediately biting her tongue for such a slip.

A pause as taut as her bowstring lingered around them for a long moment, and she wondered if he had actually fallen asleep. Then something settled on her shoulder, but the way it cupped the round joint, she could tell it was a hand this time. "Whatever you'll be doing in the future, I hope you know that I won't be forgetting what you've done, what you're doing for me, for as long as I live. We dwarves keep our memories a long time, you know."

So she had heard. But she doubted his first words. What did a little hobbit matter when he had a crown on his head and a city at his feet? She would not hold it against him for being grateful for her help, but she had watched promises be made and broken all throughout her life, and one so lofty would be lost in the whirlwind of his inheritance. No, she would fade into the Misty Mountains by way of her light hobbit feet, and he would not even remember her face. "You need to rest. There's a blanket strapped on behind you, if you'd like it."

A strangled sound came from his mouth when his next utterings were smothered by a painful, ragged cough shaking him to the core and startling the dozing pony. She turned to hold onto him and keep him steady. His fist curled around his abs again, his breathing deliberately deep and even in spite of the difficulty. "Sorry. You, _ahem,_ you should rest, too. I'm sure we could stop for a couple hours."

He hardly sounded like he would last that long. He looked no worse than he did in the canyon, but only his mood was improved. His battered and drained body shivered against the cold of the evening. Trying not to think about how prominently her breath misted before her face, she covered his shoulders with the blanket, tucking the ends into his folded arms. "It wouldn't be the first time I spent a night in the saddle. Just wrap your arms around my waist. I'll hold you up."

There was no fight left in this boy. His head wearily bobbed in compliance. He settled into place, flush with her back and his arms laying limply over her lap. He succumbed to the exhaustion not long after settling his head on her shoulder, mumbling words of gratitude and praise until they morphed into light snores. Cori sat up a little straighter, trying to keep her muscles working so she would not slip off if he fell out of balance. Her stomach would be burning from the strain by the end of it, but at least she would have something to focus on other than the weight pulling on her eyelids. She remained in tune with him as he pressed up against her. He was still, but when Shadow took a heavy step, she would feel the twitch in his face and the slight flexing of his fists. _Pitiful,_ she thought for the second time that day, then frowned. Pitiful was not the word she ever thought she would use to describe dwarves. They never did anything to garner pity, and she never felt the tug to give them any. Until this boy. 

The hobbit held no hatred for dwarves. No, no, they had certainly not earned her ire, for all the faultiness they presented. It was just that they were so... jumbled. Impossible, disorderly, self-righteous dolts. In her books, they were only a step above the level the rest of Middle-earth put them at, and that was because she had drawn the (debatably) fortuitous lot of actually seeing them in their own environment, something they strode in all things to keep "outsiders" from witnessing. Everyone preached of the greed of Aulë's creation, the unquenchable hunger of theirs that drove them to seek more, mine more, and hoard more, more than was reasonable. A dirty, unscrupulous lot that had nothing but rudeness to share. They were ready to do battle with whoever looked at them cross-eyed, or patted them on the head.

Nothing except the short tempers was true, she learned quickly upon her business transactions with them. They were cleaner than most Men, and quite polite during goods exchanges. But one thing had proven to be a foolproof method of getting her to put a disgusting beer to her lips.

It was that damned secrecy. If someone told her the dwarves had the ability to speak directly to Aulë and all the other Valar, she would bet her meagre coin on it. They had the nerve to keep their own secrets, then labeled anyone who tried to do the same as shifty. Cori was loathe to spend more than a day or two in their massive underground halls, as the wary glances became frustrating over time. Her first trip to the Iron Hills was the worst, as none of the dwarves there had ever seen a hobbit before. Luckily, Lord Dain was familiar with them and invited her to trade her wares. Still, she might as well have been looking through a window the entire time she was amongst them: seeing them, but never actually there. She took offense to it at the start, but now she was happy to be left alone. Better than hearing of nothing but battle stories and complaints about the ale.

Fíli presented a challenge for her to figure out. Not only did he talk with her liberally, gushing on about his brother, but he trusted her to see him home safely. When was the last time someone had actually put their full faith in her like that? She was not prepared to do the same. Such an innocent display fired off warnings in her head. No, she just had to get him to Erebor and get out of there as fast as Shadow could carry her. The first part may be presented with a problem. If fever took him at any point in the night, they would be trapped. The only visible injury he had was the cut on his eyebrow, which looked as well as it could. The extent of internal damage, however, was undetectable, which could prove fatal if they did not return as quickly as possible. If she had to pull him off the pony to tend to him, or if he slid off himself, she would never be able to pull him back on, even with Shadow's little trick.

And what if he died? He may be bleeding out inside. She could not leave his body out here, but what reaction would she incur upon returning him to his kin? For all intents and purposes, she might as well have slipped a knife in his heart. _Keep him,_ she directed to Aulë, hoping he would hear a plea on behalf of one of his children.

The night sounds slipped away into a dark abyss within a quick second. Weaving in between the shadowy forms of the trees, the distinguishable echoes of battle crept into the once peaceful atmosphere. A sound she had only heard once, but the clanging of steel and the shouts of death lingered like a dull ache. Then there was a flame. Small, like a candle, it flickered in the darkness. Then it grew, licking at the sky in high, hot coils. Bloodcurdling screams flickered in each wild lash.

Rough wood planks jabbed uncomfortably into Cori's bare feet. The flames towered over her, whipping about as if caught in a tornado. Her lungs burned from the sweltering air, and she whirled around to run. Against the glaring light of the fire and the mask of smoke, she could barely see a horse's stride ahead of her. The screams followed her, tangling up in her head and smothering all other thoughts until she could no longer focus on anything but them. Burning flesh stung her nostrils. When had she ever smelt that?

Above the deafening shrieks, a hushed voice whispered incoherently right next to her ear. It crawled down her spine and squeezed her throat until the fingerprints were bruised into her flesh. _No! Stop! Go away!_ It did not listen like it usually did, only hissing harsher at her. She clapped her hands over her ears, ducking her head and sprinting as fast as she could. In that position, she barely jumped in time to avoid the lump lying in her path. When she looked back, she gasped. Fíli, beaten and bloody in his battle armor, grasped at a sword buried in his throat which pinned him to the wood floor. Only, his hand had no strength and his wide eyes saw nothing as they glared right at her. Dead. He was dead. Cori tripped over her own feet, launching off the edge of the path and into the icy grips of murky water.

The black space suddenly lifted away, taking the pressure of the water with her and throwing her right back into a familiar scene: the swaying of the pony beneath her and the warmth of a dwarvish body seeping into her spine. Her neck ached from where her head had hung low in front of her. She cracked it back into place, peering at what lay before them. The Lonely Mountain, cast in a glow of orange from the sun rising behind them, visible over the open plains. Morning. She had slept through the night, on horseback. And Shadow had carried them on anyway. She looked down at his drooping head and ears and praised Yavanna for ever bringing this creature into her life. She patted his neck with a small murmur of encouragement.

"I have those, too."

She jolted in surprise, sitting back up and glaring over her shoulder. Did he really have to speak so loud? "Ponies? I would think so."

He looked as if the sleep he had gotten only made him worse. " _Kurzr ald azaghal._ Eh, warrior's curse."

She shook her head. "I'm no warrior."

"You've seen something. No one whimpers into the night when they dream about falling down the stairs."

Well, hang it. She was not aware she screamed in her sleep. Waking up in a cold sweat with her dagger in hand should have clued her in, and Shadow had looked a little alert on more than one occasion. She was lucky no one had ever heard her, though she tended to make camp a good ways off the road. She felt bad about it now, less so for herself. No doubt he was having trouble keeping the screams and the blood from his dreams tonight as well. To wake up to more...? "Sorry."

"No, it's all right. I'm used to it. My brother sees things at night, too. I try to help him, but he's a little more sensitive to such things and it's hard to pull him out of it."

He understood, but with understanding came pity. She was as comfortable about having that given to her as she was giving it to them. Her cheeks burned. She decided to bank on the idea that he would not go rattling off her afflictions and how she reacted to them. "We have only a little more left of our journey."

He nodded. "I'm ready to get home."

"I'm ready for a bed. Come to think, had I not picked you up, I would be in Dale by now with a stomach full of watery soup, dry bread, and cheap ale. Sacrifice must be made, I suppose."

He laughed cautiously, gripping her clothes a little tighter. "Such suffering I've brought onto you. How could I ever repay you for your distress, my lady?"

"Hm." She pursed her lips. "You live in a city with halls overflowing with gold and jewels. Now what could I possibly ask for?" If she were a lesser person, she would demand a ransom. But that would also require being formidable enough to actually do the demanding. Against a bunch of dwarves? A mouse among wolves.

"You seem to be unaware of how precious gold is to a dwarf. Are you sure you've earned it?"

 What she _has_ earned from this deed has yet to be seen, and neither has whether or not she will stand to gain from it. "I sure hope so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> 1\. Kurzr ald azaghal: curse of the warrior
> 
> I'm back!  
> Okay, so here is V2 of the Service of Hobbits, the real deal this time.  
> Check out "The Life of Hobbits." The first story in that is sort of a prologue to this one.  
> I'm super pumped about this, so I've been working hard at making a dent in this. I've still got a bit of a ways to go, so I won't be posting again for a while. This is just a preview to get the story out there.  
> Thanks to any returning fans of the first version, and welcome to any newcomers. Love you all! :)


	2. Beneath the Mountain

Once mid-morning hit, Fíli took a turn for the worse. The hard strain of keeping up with Shadow's relatively steady rocking demanded much from the young dwarf. He insisted several times that everything was all right and they should continue on as fast as they could, but Cori was the one enduring his weight on her back and his heavy panting on her neck. That was something she was more than ready to be rid of. Oh, a girl should not complain too much about having an aesthetically-pleasing male breathing against her shoulder, but the mood died when she remembered he had one foot in the grave already.

The hour struck for dinner when they reached the restored city of Dale. And what a picture they must have painted. With Fíli's head slumped forward and one of her blankets hanging from his shoulder, no one seemed to piece anything together. In fact, most seemed preoccupied with _her._ A few recognized her, for in her previous travels, she often visited Lake-town on the way there and back again. The only hobbit to ever darken their doorsteps (before a certain Master Baggins) would not go so easily unnoticed, especially carrying a dwarf on her pony behind her. No one bothered them, so she kept her head down as well.

As they reached the edge of the city and began the slow trek in the failing light to the gates of Erebor, Cori's own body moved languidly with the pony's swaying steps. She had not had a drink of water for an entire day after Fíli had emptied her skin. A night on horseback crept uncomfortably into her backside and legs, what she could feel of them anyway. Her head pounded furiously, and her tongue begged for some fresh wine and a hot meal. They were almost there.

Finally, they approached the massive door into the underground fortress, and Cori's fatigue was forgotten as well as could be. She needed to keep a sharp eye out. Dwarves may be bulky, tramping about life in their lumbering gait, but they were swift with an ax and sword. Her swordsmanship was abysmal. If her presence and association with the prince were to somehow offend, she may be in for a rough ride out of here. Or no ride at all. Guards in full armor stood on either side of the split in the middle of the door. They each held up a hand just before she stepped off the bridge. "State your business, halfling," barked the one on the left throatily.

Her hair stood up at the name. "I demand an audience with the King Under the Mountain," she said, resigning herself to her fate. It would need to happen. Oh, she hoped he was in a good mood tonight.

"And what gives you the right to _demand_ the king's time?" the other inquired, gripping his sword tighter as he stepped forward next to his companion.

Her fingers twitched on the reins, the other hand poised to reach over her head and draw her small broadsword. She rolled her eyes, taken by surprise not at all by the bite in their tone. "Because I have the missing crown prince and he's gravely wounded." She turned Shadow to the side so her passenger was on display.

When Fíli turned his face toward them, the blanket slipping back off his head, the guards nearly dropped their weapons in shock. "The prince! Someone fetch the king now!" they shouted to the sentry on the battlements above them.

Cori slid to the ground, standing at Shadow's head and watching them in bewilderment as they completely ignored her and pulled Fíli down from her saddle. They even turned their backs to her as they slung both his arm around their necks. His shout from the excessive stretching startled them into a waterfall of apologies, leading them to adjusting him more comfortably. Heavy, lidded eyes lifted just enough to make contact with hers, and the blond dwarf sent her a weak smile filled with gratitude as they all but dragged him toward the opening gate. She blinked, the image stuck against her eyes for a moment. She had not expected such an innocent gesture from him, the exhausted emotion behind it clearly on display. It was fondness. Her lips involuntarily twitched to return it just a hair too late.

Out from the gate came a younger dark-haired dwarf, the second prince. Several gashes marred his face, even more boyish than Fíli's, and a brown eye was rimmed in purple and blue. Both were red and wet; he had been crying. "Fíli!"he shouted upon noticing him, giving no pause to the way it broke and moving to his side to replace one of the guards. "Oh, Mahal, I thought you were dead."

Fíli wanted to reply, lips parting decisively, but all his strength had been spent. He leaned heavily into his brother' side.

Just then, the king himself jogged through the gate, and Cori took a sharp inhale, her fingers curling around Shadow's bridle. She waited for that fiery fury to land on her and burn her alive, but he gave her no acknowledgement whatsoever. Years melted from his face as he looked at his nephew, the transformation from determined, angry, and hopeful to relieved and joyful leaving her in awe. He placed both hands on the young one's cheek, briefly checking him over before backing away. "Get him to the healing room. I'll be there shortly."

Cori looked on as they pulled the debilitated prince into the mountain. Before they passed the threshold, a scream echoed from inside, a heartbroken mixture of distress and alleviation. A lady dwarf ran to the boys, pulling the eldest into her arms and holding tightly as tears slipped from her eyes and down into her beard. His mother: there was no doubt. The resemblance was uncanny. Cori's throat worked as she watched the small family clutching tightly to each other in the wake of a devastating passage of days. She had never seen a dwarf child. If parents kept them stowed away in secret while she wandered their halls, it would be of no astonishment to her. While she had witnessed a few couples kiss in the markets, there had never been families. She was a little uncomfortable watching, to say the least. It was so intimate. In a way, it brought her gratification. As no one deserved to be senselessly slaughtered, a mother had no business living to see her children returned to the ground. Brothers as tightly wound as those two, sobbing into each other's shoulders, should never be separated for any reason. She had witnessed all of that: the holding on and the letting go. It was not something she would ever wish upon another.

"Is she the one who brought him in?" the king's rumbling baritone tore her from her thoughts, washing her in ice cold water. Upon receiving affirmation from the guard he had asked, he approached her with long, slow strides.

Reservations put aside, there was much Cori had to concede. Fíli may have retained only a hint of royal deportment about him, relaxed and lighthearted as he was, but not so for the King Under the Mountain. Despite holding the physical throne for only a year, the regality emanating from this dwarf had truly smoldered for decades. A king he was now, and a king he had always been. Picking that up upon first introductions would not have been alarming, so was the aura of this man. But these were not first introductions, and Cori had shrank beneath his power before.

Thorin stopped only a stride from her, brow furrowing and mouth falling agape. "You."

She tipped her chin up, ready for a sword to be pressed into it. She knew what this looked like: hearing a bit of information about the quest for Erebor in Rivendell and suddenly appearing on his doorstep a year later. Maybe, if she played tactfully, she could leave without incident. "Cori Houndberry, at your service, sir." Her head dipped courteously.

His blue eyes were sharp, biting as ice to the touch, but not bitter. He had not reached for a weapon. His past experience with her said he did not need one, and that was her first mistake. Predictable as the sunrise, he folded his arms over his chest and tipped his head back. "It seems you've already serviced me, Miss Houndberry. What brings you to my gates?"

She bit her tongue until she tasted blood. "Why, returning your nephew, _Your Majesty._ I couldn't very well leave him where I found him, could I?"

"No, it would not have been in your best interest to do so. However, I was more curious about how you came to find him in the first place."

Now where had she heard such an arrogant threat before? Oh, yes, his people. Word-for-word actually. How intriguing. "The world often proves to be smaller than you think."

He waited another moment, determining whether or not she would elaborate, but when she simply folded her hands behind her back and rocked on her heels, he nodded. "Well, then I suppose I should be grateful for living in such a small world. For two days, I thought my oldest nephew dead. You have brought him back to us more whole than we could have expected. I extend my gratitude to you, Miss Hobbit."

"A _boy_ doesn't deserve to spend his last moments gasping for breath on a battlefield."

If he noticed the lilt in her voice, he made no indication. He only offered a tense smile. "Very true. Your empathy has given back Erebor's future king. As a token of my appreciation, on behalf of the kingdom as well as my own, I offer you a room within the mountain to stay and rest for as long as you like."

_Well, don't strain yourself_ , she thought. And then she realized what he had actually offered. Once she had dropped off Fíli, she had planned on returning to Dale and all the glorious luxuries she mentioned to him. If she left now, she could make it back by sunset and be in a warm room before dark. The thought of spending more time beneath the judgmental stares of dwarves than necessary almost made her sneer, and she would rather spend her time beneath the similar looks of hobbits, considering there was not a threat of an ax to the face at the same time. Her fur supply had been depleted in the Iron Hills; she had nothing left to sell until spring. But a room exclusively granted by a king would be no straw mattress. Guaranteed a warm fire with good, hot food. Maybe a bath. Oh, she just might be desperate enough. "I accept the gracious offer, sir."

"You should. You look like you need it."

While she wanted to take offense with that, the world swayed around her. It had not escaped her notice how her voice had gradually scratched more and more as she talked tonight. "My pony first."

"He will be taken care of." He looked back to the guard standing behind him. The dwarf immediately stepped up to pull Shadow into the mountain. Cori watched him go with a smile. He would get more amenities and care than he had in months. That alone would make the stay worth it. Thorin held out a hand toward the gate. "Come. You've spent your energy helping Fíli. Now see to your own health."

Well, by Old Took's hairy toes, he actually seemed to give a damn. The last time someone with a beard took notice of her well-being, she had been dying, and that had been a very unscrupulous Man who happened along the same path she slid from her saddle onto with a festering snake bite. "Halflings" garnered indifference wherever they went, when they went places, and that was due to never quite making a name for themselves amongst heroes and legends of old. That had been her greeting to the wide world outside the Shire, and worse. The dwarf king regarded her closely as they walked through the gate. While he probably waited for her to spring an assassination, his crisp blue eyes were soft at the edges.

The towering gates rumbled closed behind them, stealing away the rest of the natural light. What lay before her, Cori had only ever heard of in stories of better times gone by. The grand, cavernous halls within the Lonely Mountain were the dominant illustration of dwarven architecture at its finest. The rumors were true, for once. This had to be the largest room she had ever been in. It descended far into the mountain and reached so high the ceiling was shrouded in darkness. Pillars as thick as barns and covered in an array of runes stood all the way up, disappearing amongst the criss-crossing walkways suspended high above them. The apartments and living spaces of those residing within the mountain glowed through windows that overlooked the busy throughways. Each one was stacked on top of the other, built into the wall itself. Peering out of the dark corners were the watchful eyes of statues of the dwarves' ancestors still keeping an eye on their descendants long after they had passed on from this life. The entire place was what a lowly little hobbit could only dream a castle looked like. Knowing the history of this place, Cori consented to being awestruck at the ingenuity that saw this place restored after housing nothing but a dragon for a hundred years.

Dwarves going about their daily business wandered here and there, ascending and descending the staircases leading onto different levels within the city. Many paused to give regards to their king and a lengthy study of the creature trailing after him. They had much better things to do than speculate, however. The closing of the day would see most of them head back to their homes. Supper was the prime hour for a curious outsider to wander the halls unobstructed by throngs of leery eyes. The Iron Hills was more linear; here, Cori feared accidently strolling to the center of the earth if she went anywhere without an escort. "I see your quest was worth the effort, Your Majesty."

Thorin acknowledged her with a small glance in her direction. "Indeed it was. It has proven to have been an imperative endeavor." He led her down a staircase winding deeper and deeper beneath the surface. This was about the point that the air grew colder, and when Cori started feeling anxious. Hobbits were never meant to be this far down.

"Met no obstacles that kept you from your goals?"

The corner of his mouth twitched up. "None that could not be overcome."

"No mentions of a little bird amongst those obstacles, I imagine."

Then he chuckled, his head lulling forward. It was a sound that pleasantly graced the ears of any who were lucky enough to hear it. The music of the dwarves, deep and resonate. Cori startled at how gratifying it was. "If you are trying to make me apologize for calling on your discretion, I will not. From my perspective, it worked quite well."

"From _my_ perspective, it was unnecessary. It's not like my honor isn't exceedingly questioned on a regular basis."

Going by the wide smile on his face, he was greatly amused by her. "Maybe you should check in a mirror."

Her fists balled at her side. _Bed and food. Bed and food. Remember it well, Houndberry_.

"My temperament does poorly amongst elves. Then again, you were sneaking around what was supposed to be a private meeting with confidential information. If my understanding is correct, a hobbit in Rivendell is a very unlikely sight."

"True. But I'm a very unlikely hobbit."

"You are, to be so far from home."

"Well, if you continue going about life expecting everything to be exactly how you'd envisioned, you're bound to see enemies in every unpredictable situation. Not everything's black and white at all times, King Dwarf."

He stopped in his march, blocking the entrance into a passage leading to many doors. The growling about impertinency could not be terribly far off, and Cori braced with her best impassive expression. However, those blue eyes examined her in open fascination, head cocked as if he were in the middle of a grueling chess game. He nodded slowly. "You have me there." Lingering on her for a second longer, then flickering to somebody who happened to be passing by at that moment, he turned on his heel and continued down the hall.

This was a bit of a change from the Thorin Oakenshield she met in Rivendell, the one who shoved her into a wall and forced her into silence over inadvertently hearing about his confounding map and seeing him caught in a rather embarrassing moment of seeking help from an elf. Oh, the many nights that dwarf kept her awake, seething about _how dare he threaten her over an unenlightening hodgepodge of information!_ She berated herself endlessly for how much he had truly gotten under her skin, and swore she would strongly dislike him for the remainder of her days. It was extremely difficult to detest someone who gave homes and jobs to thousands of people through his own selflessness and offered her a place to lay her head for the night. What an exhausting affair.

The king stopped them in front of a door after turning one more corner. Producing a large master key, he opened it and motioned for her to go inside. "A private guest chamber. Your bags will come shortly and I will have someone bring you a meal. I have to go check on my nephew. Rest. We shall talk more in the morning."

She leaned against the door frame, extending a strained grin as best she could manage. "Thank you, sir. It's very kind of you."

"You have done a great service for me and my family." He cast a quick glance down the hall, then dipped his head close to her cheek. The placidity around those blue eyes sharpened into fine points, and Cori flinched as if poked by it. _Bollocks._ "I don't know what you're doing here, Miss Houndberry," he rumbled lowly, coarse beard scratching her jaw, "but my hospitality is conditional. You saved Fíli's life, and you have placed me in debt for it. Here is my payment: I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you are not spying."

Her mouth gaped, hand fisted at her side ready to grab at the knife under her tunic or swipe up toward his face. "Your Majesty, it was only by chance that I stumbled on..."

"But do not think me a fool." He stepped back, retrieving his regality from thin air. "Good night, my lady hobbit." Bestowing a final nod, he took off down the hall with strong, purposeful strides, disappearing around the corner in a flutter of his fur-lined cloak.

Cori blinked, scrounging around wildly in the dark for her dignity. He did it. He actually did it. He managed to leave her an even bigger dolt than last time.

First, he made her cower while screaming in her face a year ago. That blow had taken a while to recover him. After all she had seen while traveling the far reaches of Middle-earth, an amusingly indignant dwarf was the long thing she expected would scare her. At any rate, dwarves did not strike women, so exalted were their own for just the sheer lack of them. She managed to retrieve from a conversation in a tavern that it was a crime with severe retribution to bring any harm to a woman. She had counted on that extending to other races just from honor alone.

Now, he lured her into a place of security only to rip the rug right out from beneath her. He could have put a blade to her throat right then, and judging by the stone in his eyes, he wanted to. Just to show her he could force her to tremble again.

Oh, but the dwarf was a brilliant diplomat. A king who showed no gratefulness toward the savior of his heir and kin would garner little favor from his subjects. Hostility would do even less. He put on a show while the eyes of the people were on them, then once he got her alone, he let her know the full extent of his displeasure toward her. _Damn him._

He had pretty eyes, though.

She slammed the door, wincing when she realized it probably carried through hollow halls of the city and right into the king's ears. No doubt he was smirking now. She would love to rip it off, along with his beard.

Unceremoniously stumbling into the room from the aching hunger and tenderness in her body, she paused a moment to take notice of her accommodations. Or what she could see of it. The dim lighting cast shadows all around the meager bedchambers. For her disoriented mind, it made focusing on anything a challenge. But what she could see was the same green walls that defined every part of the mountain she passed through so far. Symbols and angles were carved into them in a unique display of technique. For all her grievances, the dwarves' artistry was something to behold. Their jewelry was a temptation she almost caved on several times.

But then there was the cold, hard stone. Green, like an evergreen forest, however not quite there. It irritated her, distracting her from the beautiful architecture. She was always closed off from the fresh air, the dirt, and the sun when she descended to the dwellings of Durin's folk. An ache formed in her chest when she placed her bare feet on the solid floor. So suffocating.

Her eyes drifted over to the fire behind the hearth, popping and crackling softly within the fresh pile of logs placed into it. Enduring another wintery night in this dreadful north was much less appealing than the dead rock surrounding her. Then she saw the large brown fur laying atop of the massive bed across from the fireplace, and she grinned. "Oh, that'll be a treat." If there was something she knew well, it was pelts, thick and cleanly stitched. Dwarves gobbled them up, keeping her in business even more so than Men. That led her to the Blue Mountains often and, less frequently but more bounteously, the wealthy Iron Hills. Briefly, she considered adding Erebor to her list of stops, but at the moment, all she could think of was putting Shadow's tail to this place. Not the greatest time to be making rash decisions.

The loud knock on the big heavy door echoed through the quiet chamber. She shuffled back to it and yanked it open. A young girl stood in the hallway, a loaded plate in one hand and a pitcher in the other. "The king requested this for you, my lady."

On the plate sat a slice of roasted meat with small chunks of carrots and a bread roll. The girl poured what looked like wind from the pitcher into a goblet, setting both aside for free dispensing later. The food smelled mouth-watering. Though a mere appetizer for a hobbit, Cori's daily consumption consisted of quantities no larger than this twice a day, and nothing ever quite as succulent.

"If you wish to wash up, the cord hanging over the tub in the bath chambers will fill it with hot water."

Her next destination for sure. "Thank you."

The maid smiled, gave a little bow of her head, and let herself out of the room with a quiet click of the door.

With food and drink in one hand and a new energy buzzing in her, the hobbit stuffed the bread roll into her mouth, pulled the fur cap from her head to toss it onto her coat, and padded swiftly to the adjoining room on the other side of the bed. The mechanism spilling water into the tub via pipes in the ceiling was not terribly difficult to grasp. The question of where it was coming from, however, left her staring at the wall for several minutes, and she realized she needed to get to bed before she passed out.

*************************************************

Waking up in a dark room was not an unfamiliar setting. After spending much time in the underground domains of the dwarves, Cori eventually developed a weak form of what the dwarves called stone sense. In her travels, her body was trained to wake with the sun, so she did, even when she could not see it. However, light would have been helpful when she needed to pull herself from the grips of a nightmare.

Despite having the softest, warmest sleep she had known in months, wrapped up tight in the furs, her dreams plagued her with unseeing eyes and trails of blood in the dirt and snow. In a way, she had to thank her subconscious mind for remembering what she witnessed a couple days ago, because while those gruesome images occupied her sleep, the usual terrors could not. The latter were easier to deal with. Except, Fíli was with those corpses; she had been too late. That chafed her like ill-fitting socks. The boy was too likable, no matter what blood flowed in him. She wanted to see him, to put her mind at peace.

Brushing her palm down her face, she unburied herself from beneath the silk sheets and pelts. The floor was cold under her furry feet; she would leave them to the open air today after being cooped up in their leather confines for so long. While the hobbit in her detested wearing boots, they kept her more stable in the saddle and protected them from terrain rougher than the soft green grass she had grown up on. Walking a battlefield without covering made her skin crawl as well. From her bags, which she had not moved from the spot the guards delivered them to last night, she pulled a clean blouse with a red sash belt and breeches and dressed quickly. She swept her curly brown hair into a braid over her shoulder, smiling at its softness from her bath. She actually looked presentable. It would stand for her to do her hosts that courtesy.

Once outside of her room, she tried to remember the direction she had followed Thorin from to reach the front hall where a guard or two would be to help. She found one, and while he expressed through a subtle roll of his eyes that he would rather stand there and stare at the opposite wall than help her, he gave her directions for her destination. A lot of good they did, but then the strong scent of herbs was not so easy to overlook.

The crown prince was testing out his bandaged ankle when she walked in, clearly not as bothered by it as he had been before. He was clean with only a few scratches to mar his handsome features. A grin lit up his face when he saw her. "Good morning, Cori." He hobbled over to her, closing her in a tight embrace. He certainly gave comfortable hugs. He was warm and alive, so unlike him in her dreams. The relief encouraged her to squeeze back. "I was so happy to hear you stayed. I hope you liked your room. I would've led you there myself, but Óin refused to let me leave the bed after I'd been put in it." The old dwarf looming over a table in the corner looked around as if seeking where his name had been called only to give up with a shrug.

"It's all right. The king saw to it after you left."

"Uncle mentioned you were taken care of. It was the least we could do after what you did for me."

Oh, yes. Uncle was very appreciative indeed. "How are you anyway? You look much better."

"I am, thanks. Still sore, but like I said before, I've been through worse. You look refreshed, too. Finally take the time to eat?"

She met his scolding grin with a scowl. "Have a mind where you patronize me, prince."

"You shouldn't have done that. If you'd taken ill from not eating or drinking after all you did to keep me alive, I would've fallen out from the guilt anyway."

"I've been living off stark meals for over a decade. I'm made of stronger stuff than that. I'm used to it by now."

"So are we."

Cori whirled around to face the entrance, startled by the sudden appearance of the new voice. Each of the infirmary workers nearby turned to extend a small, reverent bow of the head to the dwarf lad and lady standing in the doorway. Lady Dís, daughter of Thráin, and her youngest son Kíli, prince and princess of Erebor. More of the royal family which she did not wish to meet. Dís examined her from head to toe with a brilliant blue gaze that seemed to dominant the line of Durin, the same one reflected in her brother and son. Her dark hair twisted down her back in a long rope, the braids from her sideburns pulled into it. She stood as if she had never let her chin fall from where it was now, but there was a significant lack of haughtiness. She had the most pleasant face. Cori bristled. There would not be a second time. She felt trapped in this small room already.

"Peace, Miss Hobbit," Dís urged with a raise of her hand and a smile. "You have nothing to fear in this room."

"I..." Cori stuttered, astonished. Since when did her carefully-schooled composure tip her off to anyone?

"You are ever wary on the road," Dís continued with a soft voice. "The slightest misinterpretation of anyone can cost you your life. It's a habit engrained into your system so you never falter, just in case. We know that life, my dear. We have lived it. For you to have interrupted your hard path to help one of us, making no demands and expecting nothing in return, no words or deeds will rightly express our gratitude." She glided across the floor, reaching to gently take Cori's hands. "I wanted to thank you personally for returning my son to me. So many times, I watched them both leave my sight to go Mahal knows where, wondering if I would ever see or hold them again. I just knew that was the case this time, but you intervened and saved me a lifetime of grief and pain. I owe you more than I can give, Cori Houndberry." She wrapped her strong arms around the small hobbit, pulling her close.

Words escaped her. What could she say? The purest love that was shared by all races was that of a mother's unreserved devotion. There was no arguing against it, no diminishing it in her pettiness. This woman's words were true of heart. So Cori let her be, allowing the touch of a stranger in this way just once.

"Come on, Mother, don't scare her away." When Cori was released, she stepped back to see a bright, energetic face framed with wild dark hair beaming without restraint. It was happiness incarnate, and the glee sat there as if it never left. It belonged there. He was positively adorable. She could not keep from smiling back. "If you ask me," he said behind a hand that blocked nothing, "you wasted your time with this stonehead. He doesn't contribute much around here, so you'd have been putting us out of our misery."

"Hold on now!"

Most certainly brothers.

"Kíli, don't say such things!" Shocking no one but Cori, Dís popped the young dwarf on the back of the head, fixing a heated, disgruntled scowl on him. "Imagine your future if Cori hadn't found him."

He looked ready to be sick, and his head shuddered. "Right. Very true. Thank you _so much._ " He winked, nearly vibrating with rapture. Almost losing his brother had shaken him to the core, and he looked like he would reach forward at any minute and squeeze the life from her as his mother had.

However, her escape from that was short-lived. A breath rushed from her lungs when a weight fell upon her shoulders. She looked up only to nearly bump noses with Fíli whose arm draped lazily over her. "Told you she was great, didn't I?"

All right, this was becoming too much. There was gratitude, and there was worship, and she feared what would happen if she took the stalwart devotion of the dwarves from Aulë. As subtly as she could, she slipped out from beneath the heavy boulder across her neck. "I'm sorry to rain on the festival, but I haven't done any miracle of any kind." She gestured back toward Fíli in an effort to relieve herself of the smothering eyes bearing down on her. "If his injuries are no worse than they are, he could've made it out of there all on his own. When have dwarves ever given up so easily in a situation?"

"Never." King Thorin appeared from behind his sister, startling the hobbit out of her skin. This royal family had hobbit blood for sure, with all the sneaking around they were able to do. He strode up to her with a pleasant smile and mellow blue eyes. "A correct observation, Miss Houndberry. My nephew would never allow that filth to dispose of him without fighting until the very end. It is not in our nature to let our own fate leave our hands." He patted Fíli gently on the shoulder, genuine affection beaming from his face to the young boy's. Fíli returned it, chin lifting an inch to take the compliment with pride.

"But that fact would not keep us from expressing our deepest gratitude for the part you played in his recovery," Dís addressed the hobbit, narrowed eyes drifting over her brother under a careful veil.

"Indeed." Oakenshield's gaze fell onto Cori, and she was suddenly and uncomfortably aware that she held the position of mouse right now. The great cat standing above her watched with calm collectiveness, so very sure that he could predict her condemning move before she even did it. He grasped a strong conviction that she was employing a rouse for the many, many eyes around them just as he was. Cori would have loved to see his face if he ever found out how far he had missed the mark, but she was not willing to stick around for anything that might happen in the meanwhile. "I have learned the value of refraining from underestimating hobbits. Your kind continue to be full of surprises."

A brow quirked involuntarily. "I can promise you there's nothing special about us little folk. We just kind of waltz through life drumming our own beat."

"Don't diminish yourself, Cori," Fíli said, looking slightly disturbed by her confession. "We dwarves value honor and the guts to jump in head first. If anyone's going to recognize it, it'd be us."

"Guts to save a dying soldier? I don't follow."

"You couldn't have missed the fact that you were in the middle of a battlefield when you found him." Thorin folded his arms, creating an illusion of greater mass to his chest. He hardly needed to. "This begs the question of what you were doing there in the first place."

She lifted her nose a hair. "I'm a fur trader. I left the Iron Hills shortly after Lord Dáin's troops set out to intercept the orcs. Imagine my surprise when I find that they hadn't gotten very far at all. It seemed a trifle low to stare and move on, so I made to offer a hand. Then there he was, popping out of a sea of orc corpses. My curiosity overrides my common sense at times, I'm afraid."

"Well, it managed to save his life, so I'd say you're justified," Kíli offered with a wink. He turned his attention to his brother. "Where were you anyway?"

"I was trying to fight my way to the orc's outpost at the top of the canyon. There was an enclosed pass that led right up to it, but we didn't make it before they overwhelmed us. The passage was easy to miss."

"Not for keen hobbit eyes." The king thought he was quite clever, it seemed. Sneak in some praises, and no one would ever know he was trying to get under her skin. The bait dangled in front of her. She would not take it. "Were there any other survivors?"

She shook her head. "He was close to the top of the pass. I figured he took precedence at the moment. Then more orcs showed up, and I never got the chance to look again."

"There are still soldier's bodies in the pass, Thorin," Fíli said. "We should go back and get them."

He nodded. "You cannot leave while you're still recuperating."

"But I'm only one of two people who know where it is." Then the spark brightened in the young dwarf's blue eyes, and Cori felt dread pool in her stomach when he set his scheming sights on her. "The other one is still available."

Cori tensed, lips parting with a protest ready to spring out. They could not pay her to go back to that place. "Splendid idea. Return to the orc trap. Why didn't I think of that?"

"There were only a few," Fíli assured everyone who straightened in alarm. "Nothing a few soldiers couldn't sweep out."

"We tore every last one of them down," Kíli snarled with scrunched nostrils. "Do they rise from the dead now?"

"They crawl out of holes like worms." Cori held up her hands. "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to figure this out on your own."

"Cori, please." Fíli shuffled over to her, pressing his fingers to her elbow. His wide stare begged unashamedly. "This is extremely important to us. Those soldiers sacrificed their lives in the defense of this kingdom. Every warrior deserves to be honored for such bravery, not to rot beneath the sun. We have no right to ask more of you than we already have, and we would not were this a simple request."

Dwarven tradition mattered little to her. It was baffling at best, and altogether unnecessary. She was raised in simplicity. Everyone went about their business, traipsing along through a cloud of pipeweed smoke and pollen. Hobbits' traditions fell no farther past their shared fancy of parties and food and green things. No rituals or chants to be seen or heard in the Shire. A hobbit would not know what to do with such things. Minimalism was their mantra, except when it came to manners and respectability. And what was so wrong with the sun that pushed dwarves to bury themselves beneath the earth to avoid it?

But she was shaken.

There was little semblance of that pride so prevalent amongst his kin when Fíli spoke to her. He lowered himself from his grand position and title to plead for her help, blatantly ignoring the shared looks of discomfort amongst his family. He was not afraid to be humble for the sake of others. That was something Cori was taught never to overlook, and always to admire. So, when every part of her sensible self demanded she hike up her nonexistent skirts and run for the hills (literally), she sighed and nodded. "I'd be honored to help."

The boy's sudden grin made the braids of his upper lip sway, and his beaten face beamed as bright as his golden hair. "Thank you. I promise you will not regret it."

She decided to ignore that, as it was not something he had control of nor was it the most likely outcome of her lapse in judgment. Ultimately, though, it was not his or her call to make. She turned to the king, expecting a heavy "no" hammer to swing down and crush her into bits. He wanted to say it, too. Those striking blues burned into her face, weighing the penalties of allowing her unworthy sight to gaze upon their sacred rites. If anyone would find the idea scandalous, it would be the leader of the traditionalists. He probably thought her pointy "ears" would bring some curse on them.

"Very well. We should set out as soon as possible."

The renewing of the world was surely at hand. The stars were falling, mountains were splitting, and dwarf kings were consenting to be led by hobbit lasses. She gaped at him, waiting for the laugh and the bark to leave the mountain at once. But he only stared back, eyebrow lifting. "Kíli, be ready in an hour."

"Maybe I could try," Fili interjected, fist clenching his pants leg as he attempted to walk without a limp. The hobble was still visible, and after standing for so long, he was out of breath. _How unfortunate,_ she thought, fighting the urge to send a rude gesture to the Valar for such teasing.

"No," Dís said firmly, helping him sit back down on his bed. "We will move you later on to your room, and there you will rest. Horseback is no place for you right now."

Thorin immediately shook his head at the blond's silent plea. He stopped at her shoulder on his way to the door. "Would you like someone to saddle your pony for you, Miss Houndberry?" The offer felt so forced, it might as well have come through solid rock.

She grinned at him, fluttering her lashes. "How very kind of you, Your Majesty, but that won't be necessary. I like to make sure my tack is in good working order before I put it on, just in case something disastrous has befallen it."

The corner of his mouth twitched, but his expression remained neutral otherwise. Rising back to his full height, several inches above her, he nodded. "As you wish." He rushed from the room as quickly as he had come, and she felt the air in the room itself take a deep breath.

Fíli's dejected face would have touched something inside her had he not just tried so hard to condemn her to another two or three days in the presence of dwarves. "You pushed yourself pretty hard yesterday. No need to overdo it."

Dís gestured to her exasperatedly. "Thank you." She patted the hobbit on the arm before following Thorin out the door. Cori smiled; that woman was hard to not like.

Kíli flicked his brother's temple with his fingers. "Right. It's not like we're going into battle again. You won't miss anything." Jumping up from his spot on the bed, the young dwarf tossed a lanky limb around Cori's shoulders (they seemed to enjoy her vertical disadvantage around here). "Now, if I'm not mistaken, you're going to need an escort back to your room. It's been a year and I still can't figure out these halls."

Cori glanced behind her, but Fíli just sent her a helpless shrug with a tiny wave. Obviously you never argued with Kíli. A futile attempt at prolonging the inevitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not necessarily working on this completely chronologically, though I think I've written all the later scenes that I want for right now, so I should be trucking through the story (I'm already on chapter 4 =D). 
> 
> I will be taking down the original version of this story on the 1st of February, so if you want to go look at it one more time and reminisce for whatever reason, be my guest. 
> 
> For those of you reading Twist the Knife, an update will be coming soon. I've been completely focused on this story, but I haven't forgotten the other one, so just hang tight a bit longer. Thanks! Love you guys! <3


	3. Wolves' Den

What on this wide earth were _those_ things?

Cori's wandering of Middle-earth led her not only to meet a plethora of new and interesting people, but creatures of all kinds. She held a particular fondness for horses and ponies, as they were an essential part to her parents' farm. The swift, lithe mounts of the elves were especially a sight to behold, the communication between horse and rider unlike any bond between man and beast she had ever seen. Had she not learned to give the elves nothing but the utmost respect, she would have found the unnatural display a little odd. She was alive today because of elves, so she really had no room to make fun of them (as much as their ethereal existence amongst creatures like the humble hobbits was as amusing as it was intimidating).

After being delayed in the Iron Hills her first trip across the Misty Mountains, she had been forced south to avoid the brutality of winter sweeping across her regular route. One did not cross the Mark without meeting the famous horsemen that lived there, so she found herself in Edoras. That accidental trip allowed her the chance to see the country's renowned steeds in action while running a training exercise, led by the king himself. A quick peruse through the library in Rivendell nearly floored her: was it possible that she had seen one of the Mearas there? She would never truly know, but if ever asked, she most certainly would not deny witnessing a descendent of Eorl's steed Felaróf.

But this? This was nothing like she had ever seen before.

They were goats, as far as her fauna expertise could tell her. Rams with a pair of heavy, round horns curling at each side of their head. Their bodies beneath their shaggy coats rippled with hard muscles and restrained power. Cori could only guess their main purpose, and there was little room for error: these were furry, breathing war machines, just like their masters.

Making certain that Shadow's cinch was tightened once more, Cori watched from afar as the dwarves hook the rams to carts. They seemed a tad excessive for the small wooden wagons meant to carry bodies. In fact, one little tug and the carts might splinter. The beasts appeared on the verge of taking off as they were, but surprisingly, they remained respectfully in their places. Maybe the dwarves had a flair for anything besides hard stone after all.

"A wee bit jittery."

She had half a second to rethink drawing her sword and slicing wildly, her heart pounding. How could such lumbering beings sneak around so well? Or maybe she was losing her touch. Courtesy of spending so much time in their presence.

Then she turned around. _Oh, Yavanna._ How lucky was she to have refrained from taking her weapon out. Her blade would come nowhere near his skin before she lost her head. "Pardon?"

To begin with, this dwarf neared the height of the king; however, he retained the typical dwarven thickness where Oakenshield tilted more toward the leaner side. And he was missing hair, a feature strikingly uncommon amongst the race of woolly cave-dwellers. In place of a normal hairline were ink markings arching above a brutal brow and fierce eyes. Grizzly would be the best description for this dwarf, however the grin on his face alluded to anything but vicious. Apparently, he found something about her thoroughly amusing. "You look like him. Baggins."

She gaped, suddenly feeling the antagonizing had sparked some suicidal tendency within her. "Please, Master Dwarf, have some imagination."

He chuckled, shrugging. "I can't help it if you all look alike."

Oh, because beards for breastplates was the picture of originality. Maybe she should inform him that Ered Luin was populated with a total of five dwarves, all seeming to appear in different places in the blink of an eye.

"Now that I look at ya, you don't necessarily paint the same picture the lad did when we first met him."

"No, I imagine the breasts break the illusion. You were saying?"

His head pointed toward the carts again. "We haven't got them out of the stables for a while now. A bit of a handful when they go without a good stretch."

"Why not use ponies then?"

"Those things'll do us a mite better getting up that mountain. 'Specially if there's orcs hanging about."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you expecting trouble?"

He snorted. "You learn after the first few times of nearly having your arse bitten off that it's best to expect the worst."

Well, no enemy would be expecting the ram's massive racks barreling at them with a bellowing dwarf close behind. Not something one could prepare for.

"The lad mentioned you were a fur trader. Any good with that bow?" He took the arm of the weapon strung across her shoulder between his finger and thumb, rocking it back and forth in some kind of sturdiness test. She did not appreciate the ragdoll treatment.

Though she had no idea which "lad" he referred to, she nodded. "Well enough to pop a squirrel from a tree."

She thought he murmured something about taking out the elf next to it, but the timbre of his voice masked any coherency. He patted her on the back, smirking when she staggered to regain balance. "Least it'll keep an orc off your pretty tail." He left her no room to raise another question as he stalked off to bark an order at one of the soldiers piling supplies into the back of the wagon.

She determined that the sudden urge to put an arrow in his back was much too dark a thought and put it away. He would never expect it, obviously. Because what could a little hobbit do in the face of real danger except run? The dwarves would have to come up with something new to get a real rise out of her, but as many times as she had heard it, she did not believe their creativity extended to their wits.

Within a few moments, the king emerged from the stables, dragging a blood bay pony behind him. He had exchanged his royal garb for something more suited to traveling, yet he still managed to maintain regency that surpassed everyone else with alarming ease. Cori only realized she had been admiring when he locked eyes with her, the ice in it chilling her blood and reminding her that she should dislike him for his arrogance, not venerate the way he could command an entire room. Hardly a difficult endeavor when he smirked at her; he seemed to enjoy reminding her that she straddled a fence in his eyes. "Mount up!" he called, his booming voice echoing against the stone walls of the mountain. "We ride east."

A party of ten dwarves would be accompanying them as guards to the royal family and retrievers of the bodies. They made short work of preparations in the time they were given, and two carts surrounded by mounted soldiers left Erebor in a small but distinguished procession. The king led the way, tall in his saddle and looking very important indeed. The bald, inked dwarf rode alongside him on a black pony, occasionally muttering something to him. One time, he looked back at her, but did nothing more than grin. The only one who did not take pleasure in her existence at her expense was Kíli.

In comparison to his brother, he resembled an absolute ball of energy that was reminiscent of her rambunctious nieces and nephews. Especially rapturous now that Fíli had been returned in repairable shape. While Fíli kept a level head and calm composure—the behavior befitting a king-to-be—Kíli strode about like life was an exciting adventure, and Cori wanted to heed such an exuberant approach for herself. He certainly knew when it was time to play serious, as he exuded status while riding behind Thorin, but there was no mistaking the smile that loomed just in the corners of his mouth. It finally broke out when he noticed her watching him, and he dropped back to keep pace with her. "We don't leave the city often. Dale is about as far as we go regularly. That battle was the first time I'd left sight of the mountain in almost a year."

She shuddered. All that time spent trapped underground sounded an awful lot like the imprisonment she seemed to have escaped for the time. "I thought dwarves were happy to spend their days with their heads buried in rock."

He glared playfully. "Ha, ha. While that's typically true, I spent a good portion of my early life traveling. I get antsy if I don't take some time beneath the sky. Defective dwarf I turned out to be."

She snorted, then broke out into the most genuine laugh she had had in a good while. It was rather startling actually, how loud the guffaw was and the realization that she could not even remember the last time she enjoyed a joke so much. But here was this mischievous, brown-eyed dwarf nearly springing tears from her eyes, clearly proud of the effect he had.

"All according to you, anyway," he added.

"As if I'm supposed to be some expert on dwarves."

"What? You aren't? The way you talk, you were raised by them for sure."

Now this boy was new, and she liked him a lot. "You seem to have me figured out well."

"I shared a campfire with a hobbit for about six months. While you're obviously nothing like Bilbo, I think that's a good place to start pulling information from. Now it looks like I'm going to be doing it again. Funny, the twists life throws you."

She utterly agreed. If she thought Fíli was open, then this dwarf had to be family she met while so inebriated she had no hope of remembering. Apparently, Thorin was the exception to an incredibly gregarious family. The royal house of a race so taken to shutting themselves out of other people's matters that welcomed her with a smile and several hugs? Looking back now, she had to concede that Lord Dáin had been rather affable as well in comparison to those of his court. What other bizarre things would happen if she blinked too quickly?

"Why's the king coming along?" she asked out of the blue after a few moments of silent travel.

Kíli barked a laugh. "Don't sound too excited."

What an exhausting task that would be. "He'd leave the mountain just for this?"

"You obviously don't know him. He values every life within Erebor above all the riches in the treasury. He has always been a protector and representative of the people first and foremost, even when he ruled a scattered kingdom in Ered Luin. To honor the soldiers that sacrificed themselves in his name is more than a duty to him. He feels he owes them more for their willingness to take up the sword in defense of our home."

One only had to take a quick glance at the young prince to know how much reverence and esteem he held for his king. He looked like a young boy that just found out his father was a legendary, undefeated warrior—in his case, his uncle. While it was easy to understand such devotion came from a person who spent his entire life looking up to the man, maybe there was something to Thorin Oakenshield that made him the ideal role model for youth. Cori could see where it was possible. She just did not feel it for herself. As in most circumstances, all fingers pointed to the fact that she was not a dwarf.

She did, however, find a way to get dwarves to shut up. The insufferable roaring and merrymaking so characteristic of dwarves in groups, usually gathered in taverns, was nowhere in sight as they marched on past the city of Dale and onto the flatter land beyond the base of the Lonely Mountain. Several times, she looked back just to make sure they had not keeled over off their ponies. They chatted amicably, a few breaking out into guffaws, but otherwise, they looked the picture of an imperial guard. All they had to do was put a king in their midst, and they were completely different people. Outstanding.

"So who's he?" she asked Kíli, nodding her head toward the dwarf riding next to the king.

"Oh, that's Dwalin, son of Fundin," he replied, following her eye line. "Thorin's army captain and Erebor's very own chief berserker. Don't tell him I said that."

Captain? That should have been obvious, what with all the snapping he had been doing and the general countenance looking for a threat in even the little birds twittering about above their heads.

"But you wouldn't know it," Kíli continued, "if you managed to find yourself on his good side. I think Bilbo created a soft spot in him for hobbits; Dwalin was always watching his back on the Quest."

Ah. That would explain how he had decided not to look for a threat in _her._ He did not question her motives behind being here as Thorin had. Or maybe he was just more rational, seeing a stranger who saved the life of his prince. Either way, in his eyes, she could do no harm, which was entirely based off of his knowledge of Bilbo Baggins and blatantly ignoring the bow, quiver of arrows, and broadsword resting across her back.

"You won't have anything to worry about with him," he assured her.

That was relieving; the last thing she needed was a dwarf "berserker" sour with her.

The sun was setting when they reached the halfway point on their journey to the battlefield. The king turned to his troop and made the announcement just as golden hour struck. If they kept this same pace the whole time, and if Cori were so lucky, they might be back to Erebor in two days. Shadow released a long sigh when she removed his saddle and led him to drink from a nearby creek. The water was cold, but it refreshed her dusty face. The durable little pony seemed eager to be back in their routine, as miffed about staying below the surface of the earth as she was. After tying him on a long tether to a tree next to the other ponies, she left him to the patch of dried grass he quickly claimed with a pat on the shoulder and a kiss to his velvety nose. Next, she had to decide where to lay her bedroll. Several fires had sprung up around the patch of trees they sheltered beneath, each one slowly becoming less and less inviting to her drumming head as the dwarves dove into their dinner of a hearty stew. Then Kíli called her over to the fire he, Thorin, and Dwalin set alight. How much worse could it possibly be? She rolled out her blanket and set her saddle at the head as her pillow.

"Making yourself at home, aren'tya, lass?"

She flopped down onto her makeshift bed, letting out a sigh at the familiar accommodations of her life on the road. Luxury could not beat what had dissolved into her blood after all these years. Then she exasperatedly pondered what had prompted the warrior to strike up small talk. Sleep beckoned with a bewitching call, but she took the bowl Kíli offered her and tucked in. "This happens to be my sitting room, Master Dwalin. And my bed chambers, and my kitchen. Welcome to my humble abode."

Kíli laughed, cocking his head inquisitively at her. "You don't have a home, Miss Houndberry?"

"I have to go where the animals are. You don't find good, pricey pelts where I come from."

"Why'd you choose to do that rather than stay in the Shire?"

Her chest burned with ire. "Now that's a long, boring story you don't want to hear. Trust me."

"Well, we aren't going to hear it from anyone else."

Her self-control caved just a bit, and she dropped her bowl into her lap. _Just a curious boy_ , she thought to quell the fire spilling into her blood. There was no kind of provocation or ill-intent behind his questions. But that was even more frustrating. Why did he care so much about where she came from?

Her mood reflected blindingly, it seemed. Those bright brown eyes dropped to the ground, hidden by the thick bangs hanging over his forehead. "I didn't mean to pry."

Cori almost groaned aloud. She had absolutely no argument when met with that kicked-puppy rejection on his face.

"That should teach ya to mind your own business," Dwalin chuckled, pushing his boot into Kíli's thigh and laughing harder at the glare he received in return.

"It was an irrational idea, spurred on by youth," she began, feeling three pairs of attentive eyes on her and wishing she had chosen a fire where she would not be bothered with digging up the past. "I was only twenty at the time that I left, not even an adult. After fifteen years of living on the road, I've realized that I was looking for fairytales. No expectations, no responsibility but for myself. And every frightening tale I heard of the outside came across as exciting, not terrifying. An outrageous idea, I thought, to sit by the river and watch the grass grow while there was so much out there to explore." It was as good an answer as any. Convincing. She was proud of herself.

"And you found what you were looking for?"

Her head jerked toward the king, slightly peeved by the mockery in his voice. There was no evidence of it on his face, though. Just patient, half-hearted interest. "Reality goes down like willow bark without the honey. But I didn't dare go back. I'd created a pretty scandalous mess back home. The foolish Houndberry daughter chasing after adventures. Most of my family likes to pretend I never existed." _Except to my face._ Like hobbits have ever been good at hiding their true feelings.

"You aren't a fool," Kíli asserted. "You broke out of the mundane and predictable and sought what you really desired. You're brave and bold, and there is no fault in that."

Courage and audaciousness are better suited to young dwarf warriors than little hobbit lasses not yet grown into their feet. That was the general consensus amongst her kind, and it had always irked her. "Unfortunately, where I come from has little to do with such things. Really, there's no need for it." She said it before, and she would say it a thousand times until something was done about it: the hobbits would live to regret their leniency toward the dangers of the world.

"Rather poetic tale, lass," Dwalin mumbled around a flask of ale. "But surely a little thing like you isn't trekking across Middle-earth all by your lonesome."

Tossing her bowl and spoon to the side, she tapped the pommel of her sword resting comfortably within its sheath in her quiver. "Well, that's the way of it, Master Dwarf. It's up to you to decide if you want to believe it or not." As she settled down, head resting on her saddle with her arms folded behind it, she caught a particular pair of blue eyes. Thorin watched her in that contemplative way of his, as if staring long enough would reveal everything about her that she did not say. Unsurprisingly, he did not buy into a single word she spoke that evening. That was his problem, not hers; he could jump at shadows all he wanted. And if he wanted to make it into her problem, he would know just what she thought of his little attitude with her. Her patience for these inexcusable glowers of distrustfulness was string thin.

 

**************************

"Where is it?" Cori mumbled to herself as she scanned for familiar surroundings. The barren canyon on the battlefield replaced the fertile plains and forests they crossed from just hours after noon the next day. The stark terrain left much to be desired in her hobbitish need for green.

"We rode right by the pass that leads to the valley," Dwalin pointed out with a grumble, rubbing beneath the thick blanket of hair falling down his shoulders. He had obviously woken up with a crick in his neck, and every word from his mouth since dawn was a slight toward anyone standing too close. Cori was just amused.

"I don't know how to find the one we're looking for from down there. If you didn't see it during the battle, neither will I."

Though a retort waited behind his lips, he kept his mouth shut.

Thorin, however, did not. "Why are we going around the mountain instead of climbing it from the west?"

She sent him a side eye that told of all the ways she _wanted_ to reply, but she kept her temper on a leash for his men's sake. "Because there is only one passage leading to the post, and it is on the other side." _Why am I here if you were just going to question my every move_? For his entertainment, obviously, because the buffoon actually smirked at her, again. It was almost as bad as the damn glaring.

"There!" she called out in relief as the opening to the trail leading upward finally unveiled from behind a wall. She led the way into it, now seeing the benefit of having the rams to pull the wagons up this slope. Shadow came to a stop just before the dip into the canyon pass. "They're down here. If we're lucky, no animals got to them."

The members of the company not tending to the ponies followed her down into the pass, but nobody moved too quickly. Like a solid wall, the smell of death lurked just down the pathway, and it was overpowering. Cori wrapped a scarf around her face. Everything, or everyone, was in the exact same place she and Fíli left them two days ago.

"Mahal has preserved them," Thorin said from her side, as if reading her thoughts. Cori watched him walk amongst the fallen bodies, staring at each face with grief. Despite his attempts at smothering it, his eyes mourned. Kíli's words the day before came back to her then: each life valued above all material wealth. Perhaps he knew some of these soldiers by name, and had fought alongside them or their relatives in the past. That invoked some kind of kinship, even if not by blood, right? She never thought she would see such raw emotion so plainly visible on this dwarf. It was a deep sadness, with resignation.

She knew a touch of his past: the battle at the city of Moria that earned him his title, the Battle of the Five Armies a year ago. A renowned war hero that reigned in the topics of dwarven tavern patrons all across Middle-earth, so mighty and daring. With all those notches of victory in his belt, how much rampant death had he seen along the way?

She silently gasped at the tired soul now standing in front of her.

When a soldier clunked by in his noisy armor, splitting the moment, she cleared her throat and plastered the usual disinterest to her face. "Lord Dáin should know his dead still sit here," she said.

"We will take them back to Erebor with us," he replied, stepping to the side as their group began gathering up the bodies and carrying them back up the pass. "A raven will notify him of their whereabouts."

The dwarves handled their fallen with the upmost devotion and respect, and Cori stepped well out of their way while they worked. She wondered if they would even allow her to help, if she wanted to. Judging by the wary looks she received as they passed by her, that would be a "no." She was more than happy to let them do their thing, masking her inactivity with seeing to each of the animals. Shadow had some qualms about being near so much death again, and she could hardly blame him. Much time had passed since she had last been surrounded by bodies, but definitely not enough. She leaned back against the pony's shoulder and watched two dwarves carry a wrapped corpse from the pass to one of the wagons, skin crawling and stomach rolling.

Kíli came up after a while, rubbing his red, stiff hands together and blowing into them. He deliberately took deep breaths of the crisp winter air. "I see why you didn't want to come back here."

"Dreadful business," she murmured, a stab of guilt clawing at her chest. He was almost right.

"Worth it, if their families can have some closure."

And then another. "Right."

"Are you cold?" he asked, shrugging off his fur coat and tucking it neatly around her shoulders. He grinned in satisfaction, patting her arms. "You looked really uncomfortable a moment ago. Does this help?"

She smiled and nodded, glad for his obliviousness. "This hobbit skin doesn't agree with this northern cold. I don't think it even gets this cold in the Blue Mountains."

"No, it doesn't. Spend enough time up here and you get used to it."

"I'm not looking forward to crossing back over the Misty Mountains." It was certainly no place to be during the dead of winter, she imagined, but with her supplies depleted, she could not waste valuable springtime traveling when she could be saving up for the following off-season.

"Then stay in Erebor a while. There is no shortage of food and warmth. After saving my brother, you'll surely be welcomed with open arms."

She did not doubt that his conviction of those words. She just doubted they were actually true. "You all have been exceptional hosts, but I don't think that's happening."

He cast his face down, a little disappointed, but nodded anyway. "Well, offer stands, whatever you decide to do." He started to say something else, but Dwalin called for a hand, so he sprung after him, leaving her with a small wink. He had already disappeared into the pass when she realized he had not taken his coat back. She snuggled into the extra layer of fur circling her neck, wondering where he managed to get such a fine pelt.

Then Thorin appeared from Shadow's other side, laying a palm on the pony's nose but settling his scowl on her. "You seem to be enjoying my nephew's benevolence."

"At least I know where he _didn't_ learn it from."

Instead of blowing up like she anticipated, he just snorted. "I will pretend you didn't say that, solely because you brought us here."

"Did you doubt me, Master Oakenshield?"

"I did."

"Wouldn't that be indirectly doubting Fíli?"

"Not entirely. You are the one here, leading us, while he is not."

"And my leading you astray would reflect badly on your judgment, as you gave your consent for me to come. Why, then, would you take such a risk?"

He chuckled, looming just a little higher over her. "Because Fíli was adamant that you would prove faithful. Indeed, you have not led us astray."

"So now do you believe what I told you?"

"We're getting there, Miss Houndberry. Have all the time you need taking your leave of us. I anticipate learning more about you."

She tilted her chin up, squaring herself. "You're free to do so. You will be sorely disappointed in what you find, I promise you that."

His gaze swept over her from head to toe, unnervingly slow, then back up to her eyes. "We shall see." He walked off, taking a pass around the carts to see to the progress there. Cori just glared ahead of her, more inflamed by the amusement crossing the dwarf captain's face as his eyes jerked back and forth between them. She lifted her hand in a gesture she knew he would understand, and he guffawed.

Several hours went by as the dwarves scoured the entire pathway down to the bottom. Most of their warriors were near the top, they confirmed. By sundown, the wagons were filled with at least two dozen bodies, all covered with sheets and sprinkled with embalming scents for the journey home. Thorin made the decision to descend back to the forests to set up camp for the night, and Cori was relieved. She was starting to become mind-bogglingly anxious here.

With the carts set as far away as possible, the company bundled up into their warm bedrolls for the night, lulled by the flickering of the fire and the gentle tune from the first watch's humming duet.

Just as Cori buried herself beneath her thin blankets, a familiar weight settled over her body. She turned to look behind her, finding a sheepish Kíli with a hand still on the cloak that now draped over her. "You are shivering again."

She had not noticed. So many nights of ignoring her body's demands for relief from the cold had seen that she no longer responded to the warning signs. It probably was not the best thing, so she decided to take advantage of what was readily offered to her. "Thanks."

He grinned, flipping over to settle his back up against hers. That confirmed it: all dwarves were walking furnaces, because she felt his heat through her many layers. She could hardly protest. Once sleep actually did come to her, the assuring presence of somebody watching her back kept the usual petrifying images at bay. She was gifted with a light, dreamless slumber, for once.

Only five minutes seemed to pass before she jolted awake. A firm pressure covered her nose and mouth, hot but gentle, and her eyes flew open. Thorin's face lay next to hers, a finger resting lightly on his lips. A message blazed silently in his gaze: _do not move._ She obeyed, trying to turn her head to see into the darkness.

The fire was out, washing them in the obscurity of pre-dawn. What would have been a tranquil night was interrupted by heavy footfalls and throaty growls. The sounds circled them, and the first prickles of panic erupted in the back of Cori's mind. They were surrounded, and by orcs? _Where are those wonderful sentries?_ Then a shape moved somewhere close behind Thorin's head, and she bit her tongue to keep down the startled yelp. It was an orc, grotesque features scanning the ring of dwarves as it walked with a purpose. They just watched, waiting for anybody in the camp to stir or try to get up. Cori prayed everyone would remain still. The retribution would end in more bodies piled into the carts. That is, if anyone was left to do the piling.

The bitter utterances of Black Speech snarled suddenly from somewhere behind Cori, and she jumped, gripping what she assumed to be Kíli's jacket. The conversation was angry, growls underlining the harsh linguistics. Whatever was being said could only bode ill for them. Oh, what wonderful choices she often made in her life.

Somewhere along the way, Thorin worked a tight grip onto his elven sword, the famed Orcrist. He prepared to pull it from its sheath, face composed and calm. He stared right at her, sending a warning of caution her way. No, he was _not_ about to do what she thought he was. There was no way he was that dumb.

Something latched onto the back of her collar, and she cursed every higher being all the way up to Eru. Her shirt gripped her throat as a hand pulled her from her bedroll, cutting off the gasp that rushed in. The last thing she saw before she was jerked up was a flash of alarm in Thorin's eyes. Then she was suspended high, feet dangling several feet off the ground. She reached around the back of her head, trying to grab whatever held her shirt in an iron grip. What she touched was cold, leathery, and one of the most unpleasant things she had ever felt, shudders passing through her body. Fear worked its way to the surface of her mind, freezing her in place as her head drew up level with the orc's. A snarl accompanied the bearing of sharp, crooked teeth covered in saliva. Its yellow eyes burned in hatred. She had never been this close, and she could not think.

Except, she knew it was over.

Thorin and Kíli jumped up immediately, calling for the others to rise. Soon, a troop of angry dwarves stood with their weapons drawn and livid faces cast around at the orc mob closing them in. They proved to be a terrifying display, but the orcs were unimpressed. As if that would have stopped the battle-ready warriors from taking them on immediately.

 _Any day now_ , Cori thought, curling her fingers around the collar of her tunic cutting into her throat. She was dizzy from the lack of air and the overpowering stench of the orc, and she started to panic.

"What do you want?" were the next words out of Oakenshield's mouth as he brandished his sword in front of him, and Cori began planning all the ways she would dismember him when she got down from here.

"You don't have the grounds to be demanding, princeling," the orc cackled, shaking the little body suspending in his grasp.

"You're on my land, so I will be the one asking questions. One more chance. Let her go, and your death will be quick."

"You're outnumbered," he laughed again, black eyes burning in delight over the small group. "And I think I'm keeping this one. Would make for a tasty meal, I think."

Cori kicked out, trying to catch him in the hip, but her vision was spotting. _Just help me!_ she wanted to scream, but there was no room for the words to come out. She could only beg with her eyes as she felt consciousness leaving her.

Suddenly, Kíli cried out, wood creaked, and a hollow _thunk_ echoed from the orc's face. Cori looked for a second to see a yellow-fletched arrow sticking out of his forehead before the pressure on her neck released. She sucked in a long, hard breath, immediately choking on it but never more thankful for the relief in her burning throat. She hardly realized when she hit the ground, tucking into a roll just as a loud cacophony of clashing sides filled the early morning air. A harsh grip took her by the upper arm and pulled her across the dirt, but any retaliation of hers was thwarted by her coughing. Then her body stopped, and the hand turned from bruising to hardly present, and she lay for a moment to gather herself.

She almost died. She had never gotten that close to an orc before, and she would have to be run through with a sword if she ever did again. Her heart hammered, her chest burned, and her limbs tingled, but she could feel and hear everything, and she sent thanks to any Valar still listening.

After an eternity of lying on the ground, she finally looked up as the noise waned from screeches of pain and the striking of steel to panting and triumphant chuckling. Every voice was a dwarf's. She sighed, then her throat constricted and she coughed again.

"Just get it out," Dwalin urged, and his meaty palm patted her shoulder gently. "You're all right, lass."

"Am I?" she wheezed out, scorching fire pouring into her blood and reviving her muscles. Tossing off the hands, she scrambled to her feet and looked around. Orcs lay in unmoving piles all around the smoldering pit in the middle of the camp, the dwarves standing over their bodies with bloody weapons still in hand. Then her gaze fell upon the one she looked for, and the unmatched fury of a scorned hobbit spewed out of her. "Were you planning on having tea with him as well?"

Thorin blinked, but otherwise kept that infuriating disinterested expression in place. "What are you talking about?"

"Apparently, I have offended Your Majesty in such an irremediable way that you want me dead! Or do you think I practice _not breathing_ on a regular basis?"

His face finally caved toward a fury to match hers. "If I acted too hastily, he would have impaled you with his blade, or did you miss that as well?"

"Maybe I did because I was too busy choking to death!"

"Enough!" Kíli suddenly appeared in front of her, blocking her view of the reddening king. His brown eyes begged for peace. "I'm sorry, Cori. We were taken by surprise, same as you were, and we had little time to come up with a plan."

"I had one before we even came out here! Did I not tell you this would happen?" she demanded, glaring around at all the scruffy faces staring at her. Her voice was slowly losing its authority, and that spurred her frustration. "I told you this was a trap! You should have waited longer, but you insisted on coming here and you had to drag me along."

"You chose to." The king's voice rumbled low.

"As if I actually felt like I had a choice, with all of you staring at me like I had the key to the redemption of the world in my hand. What else could I do? And look what happened! It's as if you've never dealt with orcs before." She should not have stayed in Erebor that night. She should have dismissed the royal invitation and taken off, never to see any of these people ever again. _Why_ did she _never_ listen to the voice of reason?

"Easy," Dwalin murmured lowly, looking very unappreciative of her outburst but doing nothing to fuel it. "Just breathe."

She almost quipped at his blatant dismissal of the issue at hand, but he was right. Her head was foggy and the world swayed around her. She needed to get her air back before she passed out, and wasting it on these buffoons would surely do just that. She turned away and marched off to stand on the outside of the circle, pinning into place a dwarf that thought she was leaving and tried to grab her. If another hand laid on her tonight, she would crack.

"Stragglers from the battle?" Kíli asked, tone hollow.

"Assuredly." Thorin wiped a cloth down the curved blade of his sword, cleaning it until it glimmered in the moonlight. "Vengeful as always or just gleaning more chaos, it does not matter. But they are sloppy and disorganized. I do not believe they will pose a threat again."

"For how long, though?" Dwalin inquired, inciting a collective murmur from around the fire. "They laid into us like dessert and slaughtered us only a year after the battle at the gates. How long until they've sprung back up like roaches?"

"We will be ready by then."

" _Uzbade!_ " the cry came from the direction of the wagons, and Thorin immediately sheathed his sword and strode that way. The rest of the dwarves followed. Cori glanced at the barren, black plains with a shiver in her spine before marching with them.

A dwarf soldier waited next to the back of the covered wagon, crouched next to the wheel. His neck craned as he tried to look beneath the wagon, then he turned to the approaching company. "Here, my king."

Everyone bent down at once, looking at the inside of the wheel. Cori gasped when she saw. Curled into a ball with her face buried was a little child, a dwarf girl. Her burgundy dress was torn and dirty, and she shivered with fever and the cold night. Her teary eyes of dark brown finally lifted from her knees, tangled braids swaying gently.

Cori stared in awe. After all the dwarf halls she had visited, these circumstances were what afforded her the chance to finally see what had eluded her for so long. _Typical, that it had to be against their will._ She was surprised, however, at how much this little being looked like—just a simple child.

The girl recognized the dwarves immediately, staring at them as if they were a long-awaited present. She slipped out into the open, wincing as she moved, then shocked all when she grabbed onto the bottom of the wagon and attempted to pull herself up with grimace of determination. Her body was weak, trembling under the strain. When it looked as if she would topple over, Thorin was the one to leap ahead and take hold of her, pressing her to his chest protectively. He had done so before; he seemed quite relaxed in the confident way he held her, allowing her to bury her face in his collar. He straightened, turning to the soldier with a quirked brow.

"No one saw her appear from anywhere," he explained. "She must've been with the orcs."

The tiniest, muffled whimper came from Thorin's shoulder, and he placed a comforting hand on her back. They now knew what word not to say. "We will take her back with us and get answers later. For now, let's make sure she is given food and water."

The company spread out, working to clear the camp of the corpses. Thorin conversed with Dwalin, still cradling the girl clinging to his neck, as if he were her father. As if sensing her stare, the girl looked up and straight at Cori.

Her sparking temper cooled immediately.

_Oh, no._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> uzbade: my king
> 
> Thanks for all the lovely comments and kudos! You all are much too good to me. With that said, if there's anything confusing about the story or just anything you want to know in general, don't be afraid to ask. I will make mistakes and forget things so flag me down. =D


	4. Monsters in the West

As it turns out, little Enna had seen hobbits before.

For a while, the girl was reluctant to stray from anything familiar: namely, the dwarves. As she ate, however, snuggled beneath Kíli's arm, she watched Cori. Her bright hazel eyes studied the hobbit with painful precision, persistent even when Cori stared back. It was...unsettling.

Cori reeled from the encounter with the orcs, wary to venture beyond the light of the fire but wishing for some privacy from her companions. She needed someplace to collect her thoughts. They were jumbling as each painful swallow reminded her of the deadly grip cutting into her throat. Her head spun, and she fought against the frantic breathing sure to come afterward. Yavanna, she _hated_ that feeling with everything in her. It was so weakening, leaving her vulnerable and tired, unable to defend herself properly if need be. Keeping her gaze locked to the fire, she managed to push it down with all her might. Then she looked up again.

Enna still stared curiously, blinking drowsily as she finished off her last bite of bread. Kíli noticed the exchange, grinning at her. Had a child not found her the most appealing sight in her entire life, Cori unquestionably would have sent him a gesture not befitting youthful eyes. "Did you find out anything else?" she asked.

He shrugged. "She is ten. Her parents are miners. But that's it. A little too stricken with fright to do much more talking."

"Don't blame her," she mumbled, glowering at the poor creature.

"She seems taken with you. Maybe you could have a go."

"Don't know how I'd be able to figure out a dwarf child when her own kind can't seem to do it."

He set a playfully reproachful gaze on her for the bite in her tone. "Strictly because you are a woman. You might remind her of her mother."

Cori snorted unintentionally. Never in all her days had she thought to ever be compared to a dwarf woman. That would require some serious bulking of her frame, expanding of pretty much every fleshy part of her body, and, quite importantly, growing a beard. That transformation was highly unwanted and downright impossible. But she knew what he meant. "I can try something, if you need me to."

"Odds are, lass," Dwalin chimed in from his spot on her other side, "if the orcs managed to snatch one, there are more to follow. We'd like to make sure we shouldn't be rushing home to send out a search party."

She sighed, trying to quell her irrational peevishness at the moment. "Fine. But later might do better. She's sick and exhausted, and we should probably let her rest."

"Then she can rest with you," Kíli suggested with that damned spark of mischief in his eyes. "Let her know you don't mean her any harm, and she might warm up to you faster." Before a word of protest could be made, he walked over with the girl lying within his arms and set her down on Cori's lap.

The hobbit stared down at the warm little being nestled against her, bright eyes flickering up to her momentarily before sliding shut and drifting into a deep sleep. She was no stranger to holding children. She had a herd of nieces and nephews back in Buckland which she had gotten to know thoroughly the last time she was there. One moment stood out in her memory that she dwelled on fondly, sitting against a tree as the sun set on a long day of playing by the river, two little fauntlings dead to the world in her arms. Gazing down at the tangled mess of brown hair pressed to her chest, she melted just a little.

Adjusting her more comfortably within her bent legs, she closed her arms tightly around the tiny body, offering all the heat she could so the fever burning through the girl would not rage any harsher.

Dwalin chuckled, shaking his head at her. "Well, that settles that."

Cori glared, promising bad things to befall him later. It only made him laugh harder. Then she caught Thorin's gaze. His face held a peculiar expression, one she could not place, but it was certainly not negative. Inquisitive would better explain it. When he realized she had caught him, he looked down, returning to polishing the steel laying across his lap. She decided on keeping her guard up. Not once would she ever regret speaking her mind to him, but the retaliation he might have because of it might be swift and fierce. Having a little hobbit yelling at him in front of his soldiers may not have done the greatest things to his image, but she could care less.

Dawn came swiftly, and the company set out for home at a decent pace, leaving the bodies of the orcs to burn in their wake. The smoke had already begun to drift into the air before Cori realized it had been a bad idea. Enna reacted horribly, clinging to the nearest safe place she could find and burying her face. That just so happened to be Cori, as she had not left the hobbit's side since before the sun arose. And that was how Cori ended up, once again, carrying a dwarf with her on her pony. This one, however, was a bit of an easier passenger, alternating between dozing and playing with Shadow's mane once she had emerged from her fearful stupor. Surprising herself, Cori smiled when she realized the girl had put a small braid into the pony's grey locks. And it was very well done.

The return to the mountain met with warm welcome and eager greetings as they proceeded through the gate into the front hall. The full covered carts were pulled off toward a separate chamber, the bodies to be identified and cleaned for burial. The rest of the company stopped in front of the stables, dismounting and handing off their ponies to the hands. Cori helped Enna off the front of her saddle, setting her down to grab her bag. Only, the dwarfling clung to her leg with an impressive grip, warily watching everything around her. Cori sighed, eyes drifting to the sky. _You getting your fix up there?_

"Bring back a souvenir?" Fíli appeared next to her with a sly grin. The prince walked with a limp, and the scratch on his forehead seemed a little swollen, but otherwise, the past couple of days had done well for his recovery. He grinned down at the leech at her hip, a brow raised questioningly. "Didn't know you were in the market for adopting dwarf children."

"Neither did I." She was about to ask if he would like one when another figure approached from around a corner. Dís smiled down at her, hands folded in front of her dress politely.

"Ah, Miss Houndberry. I'd like to thank you on behalf of the people for your part in the recovery effort. Many families will be glad to know the fate of their loved ones." She stopped abruptly in the midst of her grand, probably rehearsed speech, cocking her head as if just realized the hobbit's lower half was a little bigger than before. "And who's this?"

"We had a bit of a surprise last night." Thorin appeared behind her, pressing a kiss to her temple. Standing side-by-side, the siblings seemed almost identical, save for Dís's gentler features and ornate braids tying back her longer beard. Their royal lineage shined amongst the rest of the dwarves. Thorin continued with an abridged version of what happened at the campsite earlier that morning. His eyes strayed to the dwarfling as he spoke, then to Cori. "Has she said anymore?"

Cori shook her head, awkwardly patting Enna on the back. "She was silent the entire ride."

Dís sighed, shaking her head sorrowfully. "Monsters, every last one of them. Smite them all if I could."

Thorin and Fíli shared a look over her head.

"Maybe after a warm bath and some proper food, she'll speak up." Kneeling down, she gently touched the girl on the shoulder. After a moment of quiet murmuring, she managed to extricate the tight arms clamped around Cori's thigh and pulled her up into her arms with the care only a mother could have. "She will be in good hands, I promise." With a smile to all present, she marched off with another lady following close behind her, a mission in each strong step.

Cori let out a breath. She was starting to dread that sweet feeling rising from within her heart. It was about time she took preventative measures. "And there you go. Now that I've played my part, I think it's about time I hit the road. I've lost quite a few days, and I'll probably hit a snowstorm once I reach the mountains. But have no fear; I will take payment only from that one night in the soft bed. Worth it, in my opinion." What a blathering lie. But it was best to leave on a good note, in case she ever happened by here with an armful of furs and an empty belly.

Fíli blinked, face twisting in bewilderment. "It most certainly is not. You saved my life, Cori Houndberry, and you will be given everything that entails. Your pick of the treasury and anything in the market you desire. It's yours. Just name it."

Oh, dear. She was in deeper than she thought. What a mess. "Thank you, Fíli, but Shadow's only so big, and he still has to contend with my rump. Keep your gold." _Just have to hop onto the pony and make it out of the gates._

"Just a little bit, at least," he argued, grasping her arm. She tensed. "Something that'll see you make it back home alive. No use in starving. I must do something, Cori. I owe you a blood debt, which can never be repaid, but I should make some effort."

She pulled her arm from his, cursing her luck that ever led her to stumble upon him. Then she berated herself because he would have died had she not found him. "There is no debt. There shouldn't be for an act of decency and downright common courtesy. I refuse to take anything from you." Thorin scoffed beneath his breath, but she paid no mind to it. It was time to get out while she could. Before she could grasp onto the reins and stick her boot into the stirrup, another voice interrupted.

"What's going on here?" Kíli bounded into the conversation on his long, lanky legs, swinging an arm around his brother's neck.

"You can leave," Fíli continued with a low timbre, ignoring him. "But no matter how far you go, I will always be bound to you for what you've done for me. Know that the next time you find yourself in trouble."

Kíli perked up with too much resemblance to a puppy, staring her down as if she had personally insulted him. "You're leaving? You can't leave yet. We still have to find out where Enna came from."

Her lips parted, and she looked back to Fíli. He was grinning just a sliver. She almost bit her tongue in half with how her jaw snapped shut. _Conniving little genius._ And it certainly would not go over well for her to simply say that she worried very little about the girl now that she was safe and cared for. Not after he had seen them practically cuddling this morning.

"Stay, Cori," Fíli said quietly. "Just for a little while. The winter has not been kind so far, and you may have more trouble than you want to deal with trying to get back to the West."

"It would be a shame to survive all that you have just to be felled by a little snow," the younger brother added, cocking his head with a smirk because he knew she could come up with no valid excuse.

That bed was so comfortable.

With a sigh, she took Shadow's reins and handed them to a dwarf waiting nearby. There was positively too much merriment on the young pair's faces, and she wondered what on this wide green earth made her so likable.

Kíli craned his neck, looking around Fíli's head. "Uncle?"

The king's silence throughout the whole exchange bode ill for the princes' endeavor, and that was only confirmed by the stiff set of his noble face. It was a common expression, she found over the time she had spent in his presence, one that signaled a deep inner conflict. She almost laughed. For a dwarf to be so perplexed over _her_ after the many years she sat in that chair herself? It was lukewarm revenge, but still felt rewarding. Then he tilted his chin up: a decision has been made. "Your chambers are yours for as long as you need." Casting a perturbed glower at his heirs, he strode away, no doubt to accomplish something important and kingly.

"I don't get it," Kíli mused, shaking his head as he watched Thorin disappear the way his mother had gone. "Bilbo was his absolute favorite person right up until he left for home. He was always asking about family and certain hobbit traditions. And yet he seems so indifferent toward you." He turned his puzzlement on her. "You'd think he would adore you."

Unbeknownst to the chipper dwarf, there was plenty about Cori that left much to be desired. Especially when it came to the King Under the Mountain. "Maybe Bilbo forgot to return a letter and he's irate about it."

Fíli snorted. "Definitely a noteworthy guess." Suddenly, his face became the picture of charm, twisting into a wily but fetching smirk. Expertly slipping out from beneath Kíli's entrapment, he offered an arm to her. "Might I accompany the lady to her chambers, so she doesn't get lost?"

"So long as I am never called 'your lady' again," she grumbled, grasping his elbow.

Kíli hissed from behind her.

"Will _bâhaê_ work?"

"I'm going to assume that was supposed to be offensive."

"I'd better come along to chaperone, you lovebirds." Kíli grabbed her bag and slung it over his shoulder. His eyes twinkled with mirth.

"On the way, you two better fill me in on everything that happened on this trip, because apparently I _did_ miss something." Fíli cast a glare at his brother over Cori's head.

"Then we should walk _a lot_ slower," Kíli replied.

***************************

A rather ungracious curse spilled from the hobbit's mouth as her body spilled from the bed. The impact on the cold, hard stone of the floor jolted away any sleep clinging to her, and she spread out where she landed with a groan. She was vaguely aware that she had brought the sheets with her, tangled in her legs when they kicked wildly and sent her on her grand tumble. A tipped candle rolled around just above her head. Whoever came through that door would have toothpicks for eyes from this day forward.

After more nights reposing on the firm ground and her much too disquieting encounter with the orcs, Cori felt she deserved a couple hours extra rest the following morning. With her cocoon of furs and silk sheets snug and secure around her body, she rolled over and dozed through what was probably sunrise, were she able to actually see the sun. She teetered on the precipice of consciousness, a content smile pulling her lips back.

Until a heavy fist pounded against the door and rattled everything in the room that was not bolted down. Including her.

"What can I do for you, kind visitor?" she called out loudly from her new recline, hoping the thinly-veiled venom in her voice would be heeded.

"You have received a royal summons to the court hall this fine morning, Miss Houndberry."

"What does he want, Dwalin?"

A cackling chuckle broke through the barrier of the door. "You don't question the king, lass."

"He isn't my king, so he better give me a good reason for ordering me around." She unceremoniously wiggled out of her confines, body clad in nothing but a thin tunic starting to shiver in the cool of the room. Hopefully her ire for the dwarf outside her room and the one responsible for him being there would keep her toasty until she could get dressed.

"Believe it or not, we need your help."

Her foot stomped. _Again? I thought I was the one owed something here_. "And what is it that the mighty dwarves of Erebor can't figure out, but a lowly little hobbit can?"

"I'll explain while we walk, but not until you're out this door."

She sighed, resigning to the fact that she would not be able to get back to sleep after this anyway and dressing as quickly as she could.

"The girl's recovered from her fever," Dwalin said as soon as they began their trek through the halls to the upper levels. "But we're having a hard time getting anything out of her. Thorin's eager to get a move on, and Dís is keeping him in check for the moment, but he's getting antsy."

"What does this have to do with me?" she asked impatiently.

"We all saw you with her yesterday. He's convinced you're capable of getting information out of her better than we would be."

She snorted. "Trust me, Dwalin, my patience with children is like fine twine. Never bothered with them much back in the Shire, other than a few visits to my family. Don't meet many on the road either. Dís is more qualified for this. She's got two boys, after all."

"So she does, and a handful they were from day one. But the girl likes you for whatever reason. And we ain't going to question it, but we are inclined to use it to our advantage. She'll talk for ya. Just use that hobbit charm of yours."

The only ones present in the council hall were Thorin, Dís, Enna, and a white-haired dwarf holding a piece of parchment to the king. They all stood by the large table of dark wood placed in front of the grand fireplace in the far wall across from the door, murmuring low amongst themselves. Thorin stood a little straighter when he noticed her cross through the doorway. "Miss Houndberry, my advisor, Balin, son of Fundin."

The dwarf with the long beard like snow greeted her with amiable smile, a sly wink accompanying it. "A pleasure to see you again, lass," he said with all the courtesy she had not been given the first time they met. In his defense, he had not been the most dramatic about her sudden appearance in the secret meeting, not attempting to draw a weapon at the first sight of her. That award belonged to the much taller dwarf standing beside him. Besides, Balin was too reminiscent of her grandfather Reggy Houndberry (excluding the beard) to be cross with. She returned the smile.

"Know that I would not call upon your service unless I thought it was detrimental," Thorin continued, sounding a lot like he was justifying his reliance on her.

"Well, I'm not exactly doing anyone any good sitting around here twiddling my thumbs, so I might as well pitch in a hand."

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, and he turned to gesture to the table. Enna sat upon it, and a large smile split her face when the hobbit approached. _Giver, I'm turning so soft,_ she thought as she curled her arms around the small girl's body. "What's this I hear about refusing to talk to the king?" she asked, employing her best "aunt" impression.

The grin receded as quickly as it had come, the dwarfling shrinking as much as possible in a cloak of bashfulness.

"None of that now," Cori scolded, lifting the child's chin with a finger. "You're safe now. No one here wants to hurt you. You know that. These are your people. They want nothing more than to see you safe with your parents. Is that what you want? To be with your family again?"

She nodded.

"Thought so. But the only way you're going to do that is by telling us where you came from and how you got here. Understand?"

Another nod followed. A moment of silence passed as Enna avoided every eye in the room. She glanced briefly over Cori's left shoulder, and the hobbit's skin tingled at the kingly invasion of her space. Finally, the girl sat up a little. "The Blue Mountains."

"You lived in the Blue Mountains?"

Enna nodded, playing with the hem of her clean blue dress. Distress was edging closer onto her face, and Cori did the first thing that came to mind before she lost the cooperation she was getting. She hopped up onto the grand, long table of the council room of the Kingdom of Erebor, her large feet dangling over the edge. Somewhere nearby, Dwalin snorted. When Cori looped an arm around Enna's small frame, she immediately leaned into it, tiny hands clutching Cori's vest. "Adad was always in the mines, or the big house at the end of the street. Amad went sometimes, too, but stayed home most of the time. She didn't want to go that day. She couldn't leave me with Torna like she always did when they were both gone. She had to take me with her. Adad didn't meet us like she told me he would, though. The monsters had taken over the mines."

Dís gasped from her chair off to the side, the rest of the room holding their breath. Dread and anger began to build up in the hobbit's chest as she pulled the trembling girl closer. The shadows were long in her hazel eyes, cast by horrors no person this young should ever have to witness. It was criminal.

"Dwarves ran all over the place, screaming and shouting. I was separated from Amad before we could find Adad. I heard her calling for me, and I tried to find her, but I was grabbed before I could. She always told me never to leave her side. I didn't mean to, I promise."

"We know, lassie," Balin whispered softly, melting at her shimmering tears. "You did nothing wrong."

So they only had half a story out. "What happened after that?" Cori urged gently.

"We were all tied together and made to walk for a long time.

"We?" Thorin asked from where he leaned on the table at Enna's other side. "There were more dwarves with you?"

She nodded. "They made us walk in a straight line. It was hard to keep up sometimes, but they gave us food if we asked. They were nice."

All the adults in the room exchanged glances. "Nice?" Dwalin growled, glaring at the floor. "Giving food on command? That doesn't sound like orcs."

"They know how to keep prisoners alive for as long as they need to," Thorin replied.

"They brought you a mighty long way, little one," Cori murmured, an awestruck comment mostly to herself. What happened to the others that were with her? "After that?"

"When we reached the mountains, they...we were..."Her lower lip trembled suddenly and the tears gathering in her eyes spilled over.

Oh.

There was no resolve left in the little sobbing dwarfling, and frankly, Cori had little herself to listen to any more. Thankfully, Dís jumped up and laid a soothing hand on the girl's back, repeatedly swallowing to rein in her own emotions dancing across her face.

Thorin leaned in, just a breath away from her pointed ear. "Try to coax more from her if you can."

Her head snapped up before he could move away, narrowed eyes digging into his face. "What would be accomplished from upsetting her even more? You'll just make her more reluctant to ever talk again. You're lucky if she even recovers enough from this to be half the person she was."

Thorin pulled back, eyes widening in surprise. A flicker of anger dashed across his face, and Cori stood a breath away from tossing Enna to Dís and snapping her teeth in his face. Before she could slip off the table, however, the ire moved on and left a thoroughly-reproached King Under the Mountain in its wake. He cast his eyes downward and nodded. "We are done then."

Dís decided to lay her down for a nap in case the sickness relapsed, and Cori gently pried open the tiny hands gripping her blouse for dear life and handed her off. Her breaths still came in occasional hiccups, and confused terror clung with her as the lady carried her from the room. No amount of information was worth scraping at painful and terrifying wounds, especially on a child. She glared up at Thorin, and he pointedly avoided catching her eye. He was worried for the state of his people in faraway places, which was undeniable. But he would not get it like this. "What now?"

"She has given me reason to believe a theory I have."

She cocked an eyebrow. "You know something?"

He nodded. "Before the Durin's Day festivities, we received a letter from a settlement in the southernmost range of the Blue Mountains, Durmark. An anonymous request for aid from attacks, the nature of which was not disclosed in the letter. No name, no recognizable hand, or official seal. We assumed it was a forgery."

"Now you're having second thoughts?"

"Cities are obviously being raided, and unless Enna is from Durmark, they didn't stop at just one."

"So orcs attacked a dwarf settlement in Ered Luin and took prisoners. Why? I thought they left no survivors."

"We may downplay the mental abilities of orcs, but they are sentient enough to know when to seek a beneficial means to an end."

"Or it wasn't orcs," Balin suggested.

"The wee lass called them monsters," Dwalin argued. "Couldn't sound more like the scum if you tried."

"They obviously had a motive when raiding the settlement." Thorin scanned the room, finger tapping his beard. "A slave market paid them perhaps?"

"Whatever the case, orcs attacked our kin," Dwalin snarled, furiously pacing the floor. "How else would they have gotten ahold of the girl? And more than likely, it wasn't just the one settlement. Our people were being slaughtered and suppressed while we just sat here in our cozy halls!"

"Easy, brother," Balin urged. "We are hundreds of miles away. There's no way we could've known or done anything about it at the time. What we can do now is make sure that doesn't happen again."

"You're right," Thorin concluded. "We send reinforcements to aid our people as quickly as possible. We will make sure their homes still stand or offer them homes here."

"Funny thing about that is," Cori began, eyes flashing from one face to the next, "you just waged a costly war on orcs. Not that it's any of my business, but where do you plan on getting the soldiers for the journey?" Dwarves may have been rumored to spring out of the ground, but that could not be further from the truth. How does one protect a kingdom when their defense was on the other side of the world?

Thorin's heated glare quickly turned to amusement. He read her mind flawlessly. "No, it's not your business, Miss Houndberry, but do not underestimate us. Every dwarf in this mountain is capable of making a journey like this. We will not be sending many soldiers. Take your pick for the venture, Dwalin."

"Aye." The burly warrior marched out of the room with his newest mission swirling around in his head.

Oh, yes, of course. What did _she_ know of wars and commanding armies? Nothing, actually, and it should have struck as odd that she would suggest something like what she had just said out of ignorance. _Common sense perhaps?_ she thought farcically. Yes, he could leave behind all his warriors to guard the kingdom, but while they stood at the gates of Erebor, they could not offer aid in Ered Luin should another attack play out while they were there. Even Cori in her "not-business" could deduce that he simply was not equipped to make a venture like this now and expect to fix everything. But if they thought they could take care of themselves, what could possibly lead her to think otherwise? They certainly had not just dwindled their numbers in a recent battle.

Insatiable war-mongers.

"Fíli will lead the expedition," Thorin explained to her. "If your eagerness to return to the West can wait another few days, he will see you safely to your next destination."

"Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but I see only ill fate from traveling with dwarves. I speak from experience. My bags will be packed by noon and I will be off now that you've found your footing."

"That is unwise."

She huffed, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. "Did I not make it clear yesterday that I found my decision to spend any extended length of time with you unwise? There's a word for people that repeatedly do the same thing and expect a different result. It's called insane."

"What do you expect to happen?" he inquired, arms crossing over his broad chest. "A recurrence?"

"Yes, actually."

"And what makes you safer on your own than with a group of trained warriors?"

"I won't be in the company of those same warriors when they rush after a pack of orcs in the name of extermination."

He chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "And what kind of dwarves have you traveled with that would lead you to a conclusion like that?"

"When you hang around them long enough, the patterns start to show themselves."

"I do not condone such behavior. I swear to you that nothing of the sort will take place in any company I send."

She pursed her lips, feigning deep concentration. "By your beard?"

He snorted. "That is not something to be taken lightly."

"So why do I hear it out of every dwarf mouth that steps foot in a tavern?"

He caved, that crooked smile settling in its usual place. "By my beard, I swear you will be safe with the company of mine you travel with."

Nothing stopped her from declining and taking off that moment. Except, well, he had a point about the orcs. Packs roamed, spiteful for the blow they had been dealt, and would most certainly take enjoyment out of an easy meal of a lone hobbit. "Sounds like a plan."

His eyebrow quirked, but he gave no other response to her dismissive tone. "You will be given the supplies you were promised yesterday, for when you separate. Kíli was right. Would be a shame to have survived this long just to be taken down by the basest calls for survival."

Was that...an apology? No. This mountain would have to crumble flat before that happened. "And all this time, I thought I was in the good graces of the Valar for all the luck I've lived in these past years. Funny how it all takes a dive when I spend almost a week in the presence of dwarves."

He grinned. "Hobbits have proved themselves excellent at flirting with death and getting away with it."

And he almost knew how to pay someone a compliment. Almost.

*********************************

"I thought you agreed with me that this was a bad idea."

After a hearty supper that evening, the hobbit joined the dwarf princess in the chambers Enna was being kept in. Her handmaidens were preparing a bath for her, but before she would be subjected to the soothing warm water that would inevitably lull her to sleep, Dís wanted to try to glean a little more information from her. There was a plan in motion, and Dís had heard it. What else did they need to know?

"There are many holes in her journey," Dís replied with a stern countenance that undoubtedly gained her an attentive audience in diplomatic affairs. "We cannot ignore that. I also do not enjoy seeing her in such pain, but we must know what is going on. Her fear and discomfort will not last, I promise you. She is too young to have it affect her on a large scale. She has rested and appeared at peace for several hours, so we can move forward."

_So let's nip that peace in the bud, shall we?_ Ten certainly seemed the proper age to be perfectly aware of what was going on around her. However, Cori knew hobbit children. Dwarves matured at a different rate. Maybe she would be all right. "Fine."

Nestled in a comfortable arm chair next to the fire, Enna watched the hobbit kneel in front of her feet with dread rising in her eyes. _Now I'm a negative prompt. Wonderful._ "I know you don't like talking about it," she began in a soft voice. "And we don't want you to be frightened. But is there any more you want to tell us about where you came from?"

Enna clutched the blanket she had been wrapped up in, resting her chin on her chest. Her brow creased in determination. "They would talk at night. I couldn't hear them very good, and they would sometimes say things I couldn't understand. But they used Westron a little."

"What would they say?" Dís asked quietly, leaning forward in her chair next to Enna's. "Anything, _ghivashith._ Anything at all."

"They talked about a 'trader' a lot. That he wanted 'strong stock,' or something. They would look at us strangely when they said that. Lord Avin didn't seem too happy about it."

"Wait," Dís barked suddenly, though she quickly realized her mistake when Enna jumped and recoiled. "Lord Avin? He was with you?"

Enna nodded. "He didn't stay long. He was left in a town of Men, and a few other dwarves, too. It was by a river. Some men came and took him to a big house with guards dressed in heavy armor."

Cori watched her companion inquisitively as she seemed to struggle breathing. "Lord Avin?"

Dís rose to pace a path in front of the fire. "It's safe to say Thorin left him in charge of the entire southern range, but he resides in Durmark. Without him there, our people will have no leader."

"No heirs?"

"A son of only twenty-five years. Hardly old enough to wield an ax, let alone lead an entire people. Provided he and his mother still live."

"What do we do?"

"That is our kin in those mountains," Dís replied. "We cannot leave them and hope some other dwarf lord will give them shelter. We must act quickly. Too much time has passed. Yanna!"

Another dwarrowdam appeared from an adjacent room, swiftly approaching in a flurry of skirts. "Yes, my lady?"

"Have Enna bathed and prepared for bed. I have business with the king."

"Of course, my lady."

Cori barely jumped out of the way in time for the large woman to swoop in and snatch the dwarfling from the chair. She stared after the princess in bewilderment. "He's already retired, hasn't he?"

"This cannot wait. Besides, I'm his sister. I have every right to barge into his room." The smirk on her face was a reflection reminiscent of her sons, and Cori realized the entire line of Durin consisted primarily of sarcasm. "Are you coming?"

That probably meant that she should, no matter that her answer would rather be the opposite.

The Royal Halls were not far, so the journey was short, especially since Dís, with her skirts hiked up, took the stairs two at a time. Sure enough, she did exactly as she said she would and shoved her way through the large doors leading to the king's chambers. Cori followed without hesitation, a wide grin pulling her cheeks back. The look on Mister Oakenshield's face would be worth the jog up here that left her puffing for breath.

Except, she had not accounted for one thing.

"What in Durin's name is going on?" Thorin shouted, and by the time Cori slipped out from behind the dwarrowdam, he had already jumped to his feet, a book sliding from his hand onto the chair he just occupied. He was obviously prepared for bed and winding down before sleep, clad in just dark trousers. His hair hung in wet tendrils around his alarmed and peeved face.

_Yavanna._

Oh, she was quite familiar with the power and strength within dwarven warriors (not only recently, but their bar fights typically turned enthusiastic). However, it was another thing to see where all that force manifested. Took's hairy feet, his arms were huge. And so was his chest. In fact, every part of his body seemed to be carved of the very stone he resided in, thick and solid. A rug of dark hair covered the front of his torso. And there was so much ink, it could fill an entire book. Symbols and runes in dark bands wrapped around his arms. A glittering sword ran down the length of his right side. And a raven stretched across his broad chest, the tail following the line of dark hair into his trousers. Was it possible for her to remain cross with him while still admitting that he was actually a dashing sight? That thought would have to be pried from her mind with burning hot pliers.

"I have news, brother, from Enna," Dís replied, marching further into the room and resuming her pacing as if she had not just majorly changed location.

The king's wide eyes glanced toward Cori before following the dam. He sighed, wearily swiping a hand over his face. "It couldn't wait for morning?"

"That's what I said," Cori mumbled to herself, but Valar forbid a suggestion of hers ever gains recognition around here.

"And risk you screaming at me for stewing on this information all night? Your temper is annoying at best, especially in the morning."

"Oh, yes, and yours does not follow suit. Except, when yours is on display, my beautiful sister, it is called 'passionate.'"

"Then maybe you should learn the difference."

If sibling rivalry was going to blow up in her face, Cori considered leaving. Experience had taught her that the fallout rarely remained between the two instigators. Fortunately, Dís took the higher road and got down to business.

"Lord Avin has vanished."

The playfulness left the king's face, his brow pinched in surprise. "What?"

"He was amongst the group Enna was captured with. He disappeared shortly into their captivity, most likely sold to someone."

Thorin blinked at the ground, leaning on one hand laid upon the back of his chair. "That would explain the anonymity of the letter." A long breath rushed from his nose, and the pause he took resounded across the whole room. Dís continued to pace. Cori shifted her feet uncomfortably on the spot in case she gathered moss. Finally, Thorin sat down on the ottoman with his back to the fireplace, fingers scratching through his short beard. "I must go."

"Yes." Dís sounded too much like she was calling for a pet to be put to death.

"Wait. Why would you need to leave?" Cori asked.

Thorin's eyes briefly flickered up to her. "Durmark specifically is a Longbeard settlement, and it is without a lord."

"The next one must be appointed by the king himself," Dís explained. "Beneath Lord Avin presided a council of dwarves who all held equal power. They vote for the next lord, but the final say falls to the king. He must be present to witness the voted lord in action to insure he is fit for the position."

"And what if Lord Avin hasn't been captured?"

"That is a risk we cannot take." The decision within Thorin's mind had been made. His thoughts ran amuck, planning even now.

Meanwhile, Dís pondered toward the ground, her jaw flexing. "We have just returned home. You have just become king, and now you must leave us."

" _Namadith._ " Thorin's voice came in a surprisingly gentle fashion, one that was clearly meant to prevent panic. Cori wondered how it could not have worked.

Tears shimmered in the dark brown eyes of the princess, one dripping off her long lashes. She reached for his wrist, grasping onto it frenziedly without looking up. "Are we destined to live generation after generation without peace? Do our children and grandchildren even have a future? When will it end, Thorin? Please tell me there is something to hope for."

Thorin swiftly curled a hand around the back of her head, pulling her into his chest. The other arm embraced her tenderly. Only Cori's keen hearing allowed her to pick up the murmurings of the dwarvish tongue exchanged between them. Thorin's rumbling words pushed away the anguish taking her over, the soft encouragement an acute contrast to the powerful presence he exuded at all times.

Cori looked away. The last thing she expected to witness was the sorrow of the sniffling dam. Sorrow in a place like this? Where the dwarves had everything their hearts could possibly desire? But Dís said it before, catching Cori off her well-fortified guard: they had not always known all this. They had wandered, as she had, but against their will with no other option. The hobbit could not imagine ever freely confining herself to this place, this dark hole carved into a mountain. Where was the appeal in burying oneself alive? But she could see the devastation their exile had wrought right in front of her eyes. She almost felt an intruder peaking in on such a fond moment, and her eyes found the flames of the fireplace instead.

After a few breaths, Dís stepped away with the composure settled firmly into place and brushed her thumb over her eyes. "I apologize," she directed to Cori with half a grin. "I will go over plans for stewardship with Balin in the morning."

"Please do," Thorin mumbled, hand giving her arm one last stroke.

Cori helplessly stared at Dís with the strong rod returned to her spine and the iron back in her face. Where did the admirable qualities of this woman end? Cori started to like her a little too much. The dam turned to the door in an instant and marched out, off to prepare notes and whatnot. Tension laid about the room like a thick blanket of snow, covering her and the other occupant with awkward air. Well, _she_ felt unpleasant. While Thorin stared off at a wall with a hundred different things coursing through his head, she struggled to ignore the fact that she was standing in the middle of the king's private chambers, the king himself standing half-clothed in front of her. _Where would I find protocol on this?_ she wondered, eyeing the door. Should she say something then leave, or just quietly slip out while he was occupied. She took one hesitant step back to follow the latter option when his voice stopped her.

"The plans are still the same, even if I am to come along as well." Thorin finally turned from the hearth and met her eyes.

She had not entirely expected them to change, but traveling with a king probably called for an entirely different arrangement. She would not know. She had never been given the pleasure.

It was more than likely paramount that she left them at the first chance. After all, in their eyes, who was she to be pushing herself into the secret lives and business of dwarves? She would be the first to remind them that they offered in the first place, and while she truly would rather not have someone indebted to her, she was not afraid to use the many, many reimbursements they were so inclined to bestow on her when the situation called for it. While living on the road as a shorter creature than most, and a female at that, she learned when to take opportunities that would make life just that much easier. "I offer you luck on your disturbance, then."

He nodded once. "Thank you."

With the uneasy silence quickly returning, Cori found it the opportune moment to take her leave. "Good night, Your Majesty."

"To you as well, Miss Houndberry."

She spun around, padding quickly out of the open door and releasing a breath when it clicked shut. However, just before it did, she caught an astonishing image.

The littlest smile poked out from within his beard. And the most jarring part: it actually looked genuine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> bahae: friend  
> ghivashith: little treasure  
> namadith: younger sister
> 
> <3


	5. Out the Door

When Cori received the message to meet the princess in her study, she had expectations for nothing but the worst. Dís struck her as the kind to have a hand on a knife hidden somewhere on her person and wait for the absolute opportune moment to make a move. Metaphorically speaking, but the dam probably knew as much swordplay as any dwarf in this mountain. No, she was more of a lethal negotiator, luring her opponent into a safe state. Then, she would spring her attack and unquestionably win. How that applied to Cori was a mystery, and she sweated. More than likely, she had done something to displease her in some way, and she would be intimidated into leaving and never having any contact with anyone from this city ever again. Again, what she had done left her at a loss. But she had stepped on dwarvish customs before, completely unawares, and been cut to shreds by the offended.

However, when she arrived by way of another grumpy escort, Dís greeted her with a smile. And not even the decorous kind, but one that she had seen during Dís’ interactions with her kin. Free and friendly. That was even more disconcerting. “Hello, Cori. Thank you for coming. There’s something I wanted to discuss with you before you left with the company. Don’t be shy. This mess will not be eating anyone, I promise.”

Papers upon papers, inked or blank, littered the top of the desk like fallen leaves in autumn. It presented quite a familiar sight to Cori, actually. Her father with all his produce inventory, sales documents, and equipment loans had a comparable filing system. But who mastered it better? “I…had no idea.”

“What? How extraordinary of an occasion it is for a kingdom to lose its monarch for a time?” Dís laughed, searching through the dizzying mess for something she envisioned lay in there and not, say, in the stack on the table by the bookcase. “Someone has to take his place.”

“Why not you?” She presented the question as rhetorical. The answer was common knowledge, after all.

Dís rolled her eyes, keeping her focus on what her hands did not uncover and not so much where rejected things ended up. “The day those stuffy, rickety old men have to take orders from me again will be the day this mountain crumbles, or so they say. They had quite enough of me in Ered Luin while Thorin pranced about in the wild with his friends.”

The snort burst from her nose before she could do anything to stop it, and she kept an eye on the princess for any outrage. And she thought _she_ was terrible for making jabs at her siblings behind their backs. “They probably don’t enjoy being shown how much they don’t know.”

“For someone who claims to come from a simple background, you seem to have a knowledgeable hand in politics, Cori Houndberry.”

“Well, I’ve just been informed it’s perfectly fine to insult the king, so I say I’ve still got plenty more to soak in.” If she could bring herself to care long enough. Once she emerged from those mountains, she could officially call herself done with royals. Common folk came across as much easier to understand, and gave far less trouble. Or maybe it was just _this_ race of royals.

“I’ve amassed a great deal of frustration toward my brother for taking my children away from me for so long and leading them into perilous circumstances after he promised to keep them safe. He fully expects my wrath for a time.”

“Thank you. Now I feel sympathy for him.”

She snorted, her amusement abruptly cut short by a victorious exclamation. “Here it is! You would think it wouldn’t have been buried so much after only a day.”

Cori leaned over the opposite side of the desk as Dís placed the parchment across a cleared portion of the tabletop, scooting a jar of ink and a quill next to it. A startling amount of pomp and circumstance spread across the sheet, carefully placed with beautiful penmanship so it all would fit. “Am I buying a house here?”

“If you were, there would be about five more of these. As you’re aware, dwarves take integrity seriously, and that includes binding ourselves to certain arrangements and swearing to keep them under pain of death. Most often, we don’t need something like this, but it helps keep track of all the stipulations. In this case—speaking nothing against you, dear hobbit, as our past affiliations with your kind have shown you devoid of deceit—as we are doing a deal with another race, we are required to put the pact in writing.”

Cori blinked, trying to decipher the formal code with which the document had been written. While she acquired a meagre education in between digging in the fields and trying to avoid her lessons, her escape from Buckland ensured that she would miss a few thngs she would have been taught in her tweens. Her transactions were quite simple affairs at that. She had never actually dealt with contracts before. “And what exactly am I agreeing to do?”

“Actually, it’s more what _we_ are agreeing to do for you, and you are signing your awareness and acceptance of it. This simply states that the company you travel with will be responsible for your safety and your care until you reach the point in your journey where you depart from them. Thorin’s signature—here—endorses the arrangement and simultaneously binds him to the agreement as leader of the company.”

Sure enough, the king’s swirling mark sat just below the body of the paper and above an empty line that she suspected waited for her own name. “This…isn’t necessary, I promise. I wouldn’t hold it against anyone if I got a little scraped up.”

“Look at it as quittance for the grand debt we owe you for saving my son’s life. It was Fíli’s idea, actually.”

Of course, it was. The dwarf came on so persistent that she felt it would mean an insult to him to shove aside his offer now. While his perseverance on looking after her was flattering, she found it mostly irritating, like a relative who insisted on offering money or dishes long after it was deemed necessary. She sighed; maybe if she allowed him to think he had fulfilled his oath to her, he would get off her back. Dipping the quill in the ink, she scratched her signature onto the parchment, grimacing at how jagged it looked compared to the rest of the script.

Dís retrieved it, blowing on the ink for a moment before tossing the paper in its own pile at the corner of her desk. “Thank you, Cori. You honor us with your trust.”

Now that was misinterpretation just a hint.

“I will notify Thorin of this as soon as possible.” She swept the desk one more time before pushing her high-backed chair inward and skirting around the corner. Cori followed her to the door and out, trailing like a wedding train behind her through the halls. “Will you be attending the memorial this evening?”

She winced. Oh, right, that. “I did not know I was invited.”

The dam’s brow furrowed. “Those dwarves would not have been found if not for you, Cori. It is because of your service that we are able to do this. You have just as much right to be there as anyone else in this mountain does.”

One dwarf spoke one thing, while the many eyes traversing the halls of Erebor at the same time spoke volumes in the opposite direction. They smiled politely to the princess, bidding her a good morning while decidedly ignoring her companion. Wherever Cori looked that she was not dismissed entirely, she found condescension instead. The intensity of a thousand offended gazes would squeeze her into a miniscule speck of dust as soon as she entered the tombs, and it would be a miracle if she exited without being vigorously reminded of her pointed ears and big feet. She may have been given permission by one who counted the most, but the stares would not stop just because she had the favor of the royal family. When they stopped at her chambers, she turned to the dam and smiled politely. “If you don’t mind, Dís, I would rather not.”

“Are you feeling unwell?” Too much concern poured from this dwarf than could be comfortable. Cori fought not to recoil. She was not used to this.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll just retire early for the evening.”

Dís wanted to say something, possibly ask more questions, but she was fortunately keen enough to read Cori’s expression and take that as her answer. “Very well. You may request a healer’s attention when your supper arrives, if it worsens.”

She nodded, reaching back for the handle of her door in haste to escape the confines of this small hallway and the imposing woman in front of her. This whole underground fortress suffocated her. “Thank you.”

With a quick nod and a goodnight, she slipped inside and locked the door behind her. A numbing throb at her left temple took up a steady rhythm, and she laid down on the bed against the nausea it caused.

When was the last time she socialized this much with this many people in a semi-friendly environment? Of course, her business required her to speak to people often when caught in the throes of bargaining, and she never lacked in the skill of conveying her thoughts and words. But friends? She tried that the first couple of years on the road, when solitude had its most unrelenting grip on her. But the whole affair whirled around in one vicious cycle so many times that her head constantly spun. She had to follow the animals, and where they were, people were not. It was too much of a hassle. The acceptance that she did not need it finally gave her sweet relief. She required nothing but peace and quiet with her pony now.

What the dwarves of Erebor relentlessly tossed at her was entirely unsettling and unfamiliar to her. She had not the first clue where she could start to decipher it. Did she want to? She liked it, just a little. But that mattered little. Sooner or later, she would not have to decide their reasoning behind it.

All the dwarves lavishing her with praise and admiration would do no more once the gratitude for reviving a loved one from the dead disappeared. The crown prince held great importance to the kingdom, but once the shock wore off, this place would turn into the Iron Hills or Ered Luin. She would find nothing in these halls but isolation and suspicion. The blame fell on no one; it was the way of the dwarves, and Cori could hardly ask them to alter their thinking simply because she was lonely again.

But it was just like that. An ounce of companionship shown to her, and she lapped it up like a thirsting puppy. She scoffed, swiftly throwing herself to her feet. “Am I that desperate? These are _dwarves._ ” They did not make good companions to those who could not call Aulë their maker. How many times would she have to remind herself of that before she stopped thinking anything could be different? It was _always_ the same.

She would allow the dwarves to do their indulgences for the time being. They were her best bet for getting across the Misty Mountains in one piece, after all, as much as she baulked at admitting it. Once they grew tired of her, she would be prepared to take off and return to her usual routine. She just had to wait for the signal. She was used to it by now.

              *************************

Cori found herself fascinated with the otherworldly creatures that were rulers and those blessed with political power.

Decorous as ever, the king led his procession of twelve from the gates of Erebor, spine straight and chin tilted up. He held no haughtiness, no illusion of grandeur above those who stood by to wish the company farewell and a safe return. Just a formality expected of one in his position. His smile saw to make sure Cori knew that. It was an unmistakable love for all the people he took care of. No mere politician, this one.

The princes were the same, trailing just behind their uncle with similar expressions to his. Of course, Kíli’s covert excitement was hard to miss. He had considerable zeal to leave the mountain once more, and he gushed endlessly over briefly returning to a life on the road as he once lived while residing in the Blue Mountains. No one could convince him to remain home while his brother was gone, and all who knew it folly to dispute with him consented that he would need to learn such duties as Fíli would, just in case (the older prince’s brush with death opened a few eyes, it seemed). The sturdy advisor to the king, Balin, would take regency over Erebor with Dís at his side until their return.

Dwalin came, too, riding next to one of his seven hand-picked soldiers behind the princes. His brother had argued that his talents would be better suited to protecting the kingdom. The captain heartily disagreed, claiming his allegiance lay with the king and not the stone. Thorin did not refute him, engaging a small exchange with the bald dwarf wherein his eyes softened by a slight measure. He wanted the dwarf along, it would seem.

Cori trailed behind the soldiers, next to the two pack ponies carrying supplies, observing from her position of disassociation. She preferred the companionship of the silent animals anyway.  

Things took a turn when they put Dale to their tails.

The formation every dwarf so proficiently fell into upon leaving the mountain and retained during their pass through the city of Men dismantled almost immediately. Cori bit her lip just to keep the frolics from bursting out of her mouth. The formation of the soldiers dissolved, and they fell into pairs of friends that erupted with laughter and uproarious banter. Fíli and Kíli broke into a speedy canter, nearly a gallop, clearly racing each other toward some imagined spot and completely ignoring the older dwarves’ cautioning. Neither Thorin nor Dwalin seemed to actually mind their antics.

Thorin unhooked the fur-collared cloak cascading down his shoulders, pulling it off with a dramatic twirl and laying it over his pony’s hindquarters. The rod in his spine slipped out, and he relaxed into his saddle and a pleasant conversation with his kin that actually elicited a grin. Dwalin settled similarly, draping his reins over his pony’s neck and guiding it merely by his legs.

While she had previously complained about the duplicitous tendencies common among sovereignty, this new development brought relief. What she thought would turn out to be a stiff, boring ride to the west, she may actually tolerate. Of course, the brothers guaranteed entertainment, but it was nice to know the rest did not go about their daily lives with sticks up their backsides. Could have fooled her, all that grumbling and general displeasure at the world.

At least from one person.

“Miss Houndberry, a word?”          

She supposed it was only a matter of time before she would have to interact with her companions. She had, after all, spent the first two days of their journey with her nose in one of the three books she carried in her pack, content to let Shadow follow the herd. She was relieved to leave the stuffy mountain behind and return to the open air, so she shut her ears to the grievances of the dwarves who were under the complete opposite impression of traveling and bemoaned separation from their beloved halls for so long. They had not asked much of her around the campfire, accepting her role in all this and letting her keep to herself. Well, for the most part. Fíli and Kíli tried to include her, asking simple questions to which she gave quick answers. Even while she cleaned her sword and fletched a few more arrows, they sat near her, offering her company just from their presence. The gesture was sweet, actually.

Shutting her book and stuffing it away with a sigh, she urged Shadow into a trot until she marched alongside Thorin’s bay. Or should she hang back a bit? No telling what rules of propriety she would be breaking during this venture. “Sir?”

“How was our little dwarfling when you saw her last?”

Cori had to see the girl once more before they left. It hardly seemed right after all that happened to up and take off without notice. Enna seemed displeased by her departure. The soft, wet eyes cracked something in the hobbit as they looked up at her for something neither of them knew. She said the first thing that came to her mind at that moment: she would make sure her parents were found. It was quite the impossible promise to fulfill, but Cori knew the boys would make sure of it if she asked. Kíli had obviously developed a soft spot for Enna. “Well as can be. Tough little tot.”

“Yes, she was brought up well. Were goodbyes all that were shared?”

Oh, come on, enough! “I assumed we no longer needed to traumatize her, so I didn’t try.”

“I hadn’t expected you to. She seems to trust you, so I thought it likely that she would open up on her own.” He tilted his head toward her, a defensive barrier dropping over his face. “I do not enjoy bringing pain to children, Miss Houndberry. Are your expectations of me so low?”

“I don’t think you’re heartless, no, but _my_ opinion of you is your own doing, unless you’ve forgotten.”

He had the audacity to actually look annoyed. “We have addressed that.”

“Addressed what?” Oh, right. Someone else was within listening range. While Cori would like to iterate her innocence, Dwalin’s presence on this journey explained exactly where his favor would fall in this disagreement.

“You have all you need to move forward in your endeavor, don’t you?”

“Assuming what she has told us is true and not her overwhelmed imagination.”

She almost laughed. “So you’re acting blind off the tales of a child who obviously has been through the most disturbing experience of her life?”

“The letter gives us something else to follow, but just the same, we cannot put our full trust in it. So, yes, that’s exactly what we’re doing.”

His devotion to his people scattered over various parts of Middle-earth probably drove him into action in spite of all they lacked. Whatever she said would not deter him from his mission now. He had, after all, left the mountain. “May I see the letter?”

One eye turned to her. “Why? You want nothing to do with our business after all, right?”

“I think I’ve proven that I’m capable of obscurity when it counts, Mister Oakenshield. But, then again, I suppose that doesn’t matter to you, does it?” The number of words Thorin said to her so far could be counted on one hand, unless they involved collective orders for the rest of the troop. Clearly, he had a mind to pretend she was not here at all, so this sudden interest in her was born from thin air. He consented to her joining them out of pure obligation, it would seem. What did not fall under his duty was entertaining her, and part of her was glad of it.

His jaw clenched, but his hand slipped into his jacket and pulled out a piece of weathered parchment. She examined it closely when he handed it to her. Dirt covered the paper all over, some of the ink smudged as if once dampened but still legible. Indeed, there was no formal seal or signature to be found. Just a crudely-drawn symbol in the top right corner. “Is this Lord Avin’s house?” she asked with her thumb pressed to it.

Thorin nodded. “But, as I said before, it is not his penmanship.”

She examined the script. It was hastily written, quite jerky and splattered with ink as if the pen had been quivering. Of what she could read, she found nothing important. Just a jumble of jargon only a dwarf could understand. As she came closer to the bottom, however, she paused.

Her breath caught when she read it. _Settlements across Enedwaith up to the Baranduin are under heavy oppression from the invasion._ Near the Brandywine? Close to the Shire.

This could be bad.

“What do you make of it?”

Cori shook her head of the alarmed thoughts settling in to pester her with visions of the green hills of the Shire overrun by orcs, folding the parchment and offering it back to him. “You know your people. I wouldn’t be able to tell you one way or another.”

“Well, then, what kind of help are you?”

The jest tickled at her last nerve, and were these any other circumstances, she may have just told him off for his assumption that she would do _anything._ After all, had she not already offered sufficient service to them, if she repeated what she had been told uncountable times since she first entered the gates of Erebor? But one thing she knew not to count on _ever_ in life was a free ride. And she was anything but ungrateful.

That evening, when Thorin finally called to the group to make camp for their third night away of the mountain, Cori sought out Ion, son of Dion.

“What can I do for you, Miss Hobbit?” the jolly red-haired warrior inquired when she stopped next to the spot where he piled pieces of kindling into his makeshift fire pit and the small flame flickering inside it. Evening had already come, thanks to the overcast skies threatening snow sometime in the night, according to Dwalin. The light cured Cori of the growing uneasiness she had begun to acquire when in a dark campsite; more often than not, she twitched at a pair of orc eyes materializing out of the bushes late at night.

“I wanted to compliment you on your cooking, Master Ion. See, hobbits know a thing or two about good food, and I haven’t had the pleasure of that, what with my meagre rations, for a while now.”

Within the thick braids falling from the sides of his upper lip and weaving into the impressive beard over his chest, his smile beamed brightly. She caught him by surprise, judging by the shift in his eyes. “Why, thank ya, lass. My lady certainly wouldn’t agree with ya, but then again, she’s competitive with her own cookery.”

And now for the play. “I certainly don’t want to trespass, but I’m starting to feel a bit useless around here. You wouldn’t mind an extra hand, would you?”

Ion contemplated her closely, looking her up and down as if that would help him gauge her skills at throwing vegetables into a pot of stew. Whenever he came to whatever conclusion he deemed necessary, he nodded. “I haven’t heard too much about hobbits. Actually, hardly a thing before you showed up and caused a raucous throughout the mountain. But I’ve got a feeling someone who’s as comfortable with riding all day and sleeping under the stars as you are knows something about keeping yourself fed. I’m willing to give ya a try.”

Unsurprising that she had been watched this whole time. At least someone finally made a correct assumption about her. “Much obliged, Master Dwarf.” _You’ve given me quite a lot of power here._

Of course, her new endeavors became the most interesting thing to happen within the company that night. The eyes on her were wary as she peeled potatoes, though not necessarily expecting the worst. In fact, she earned a few nods of gratitude when she opened the stew pot for sampling. Once everyone acquired their rations for the night, she spooned out what was left and settled down beside Fíli to stare into the fire.

Conversation floated around her, but as usual, she had nothing to add to it. The topic was led by the two married dwarves in the group, Ion and a bull of a dwarf with two thick plaits trailing down his back, and neither held back with their soppy descriptions of the lovely misses waiting for their return. Dwarves were quite pathetic when it came to their wives. It was cute, in a way.

As Cori neared the bottom of her bowl, something nudged her right elbow. Fíli smiled at her, holding up his own depleted meal. “Got anymore hidden talents you should mention?”

She snorted. “None you actually want to know about.”

He lifted a blond brow, asking for an elaboration he would not get. It was no joke. Her talents fell short in the way of integrity of touching up a stew with some spice mixtures, and to an extreme extent. He was unsatisfied, however, fixing her with an expectant look once he tossed his dish to the side and slid into a comfortable recline. “Name one, at least.”

She sighed, sifting through her mind to find the most innocent one. “I can identify a good number of plants. Herbs mostly, and flowers.”

Kíli hardly tried to hide his grin behind his hand, shrugging sheepishly at her when she pinned him with a glare. “Where’s the use in that?”

“Lad,” Dwalin growled from across the fire, “can ya be more insensitive?”

The warrior’s intervention was unnecessary, but very much appreciated. She had few things in her life to be proud of: her business, and this. “Well, for one, herbs have just provided you with a flavorful meal tonight, so there’s _your_ use for it. And a hobbit’s not a hobbit without a modest knowledge of your basic flora. Makes for awkward first impressions for potential life partners.”

To Fíli’s credit, he actually seemed interested. “Hobbits use flowers for courting? How?”

“Flowers are a language. Each one means something by itself, or creates a whole different message when arranged together. You start out small, unassuming, testing the waters with a simple morning glory to convey your interest. Gradually, you’ll move up to a blue salvia to let them know they’re in your thoughts. But not a red one. That could come on a little too strong. If verbal communication is going well, which is highly recommended alongside the flowers, you might take a leap with a tulip and let them know just what your feelings are. These are just examples, of course. There’s a whole array of flowers that have similar meanings that you could substitute. Not a whole lot of ways you could go wrong, unless you choose something that completely contradicts what you want to say. Seen that happen a whole lot. It’s best to do your research.”

“Been the recipient of any declarations of affection?” Kíli asked with a wiggle in his brow.

“I might have, if I’d stuck around a little bit longer. That usually starts during the tweens. Some younger ones will weave flower crowns with their chosen blooms. I was on the road during my tweens, so I was never called on. And to be honest, I’m glad of it. You won’t find greater entertainment than a hobbit lad failing miserably at charming his intended. I’ve got more important things to attend to.”

“I don’t think you’d have to try too hard, if ya went back home.” Dwalin winked.

That was…the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. “Uh, thanks. But I think any parent would dread their son going after an unrespectable thing like myself. I remember watching my sisters come home with many a bouquet all the time. My mother apparently had several suitors, too.”

“Their loss.”

Fíli actually looked sincere when he said it. Startling. Average she was, in the matter of physical appearance. A more voluptuous lass would obtain a man’s attention before her. Not to mention her foot hair was a disgrace to any self-respecting hobbit, but she had much more to worry about while surviving in the world. However, here she was, receiving compliments from dwarves. That may have been a warning sign she should heed. “I’m sure you two are quite the catch amongst the ladies.”

Kíli wrinkled his nose, prodding the fire. “Unfortunately.”

“I hate to complain,” Fíli added, looking just as vexed and uncomfortable, “but our titles come with a lot of pressure in that area. Thorin and Mother want us to settle down, but right now isn’t the time. With all the rebuilding and now the orcs, there’s too much distraction.”

“You two seem pretty young to be worrying about marrying.”

He shrugged. “Well, seventy-eight and eighty-three are just the right time to be looking, apparently.”

She almost choked on her spit. Always a sharp reminder how differently dwarves matured. “You two would be very old hobbits. We tend to start stepping into the grave at a hundred.”

Kíli snorted. “That means Uncle would be a very dead hobbit.”

“How old is he?”

“In a few months, he’ll be 172, the old geezer.”

She peaked at the dwarf out of the corner of her eye, wondering if he was still listening to the conversation. He and Dwalin had taken up a private talk of their own, as had the other dwarves. How could someone be that old and still look hardly a day out of his prime? Maybe he just aged well; that she could not deny. Like a sweet wine. And she had an acute taste for wine. “He’ll be on the throne for a while, then, won’t he?”

Fíli rolled his eyes. “He’s been the acting king for about seventy years now, so he’s been ruling for an unusual amount of time. But he’ll probably stay there for another half a century. Which brings us back to the mad hustle to marry us off. Entirely unnecessary, since there’s two of us. I wouldn’t even know where to begin adjusting that whole deal, if it’s even possible.”

And that was how change remained dormant. Nobody wanted to _do_ anything. Except he seemed to, evidently. He had not lied to her after their first meeting. Things were certain to shift when he ascended, judging by his tremendous ambition. He did not come across as an immature, impulsive warrior that she had seen in many young dwarves, rather he seemed to actually have a head on his shoulders. Erebor had a bright future with the firm little lad heading for the crown. If his uncle did not mess it up first. That seemed unlikely, gauging the incredible growth of the resurged city over the past year. With a ruler like Fíli, so willing to trust an outsider like her, maybe relations with the dwarves had a flourishing horizon in store, too. That hardly accounted for the rest of the world currently, and while it may not happen in her lifetime, at least things were moving in the right direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to have two extra chapters done before I upload one so I don't need to go back and change something, and I had some trouble with this one and the next one, so there's my excuse. But I think we're on the right track now.  
> Anyway, happy March! And in true March fashion, it's been raining all day long.  
> Thanks to all the lovely commenters and kudos!! Hugs all around! <3


	6. It's In the Trees

The clouds hovering low overhead promised more than just the drizzle of cold rain that had sprinkled onto them the past few days. And it was about time; the temperature had been dropping consistently, and Cori was ready to see something come of it besides their dreadfully dreary surroundings.

She bent down with a cloth in hand, scrubbing fiercely at Shadow’s fetlocks. The slight feathering stretching from his knee to his hooves dripped ice cold water from their trek over the ford at the River Running. The last thing she needed was icicles dangling from her pony’s legs, especially if the air continued to grow more and more frigid. He craned his head down, blowing warm air into her face as thanks, and she giggled at the tickle of his whiskers on her cheek.

The dwarves had stopped to put their heads together, murmuring amongst themselves about something that obviously did not pertain to her, as usual. She found it odd how, after all the adamant refusal to camp anywhere devoid of trees, they chose to stop in the open with the largest cluster of trees in the East sitting just a short distance away. Their day’s ride would not end for another several hours, as the time was only shortly past midday. What was so important that they had to convene now instead of waiting for a fire and some bowls of stew to talk over?

Cori rose to stand as she finished with Shadow’s back leg, preparing to do the other side. As she moved around his tail and looked up to make sure he had one eye on her, she stopped abruptly. Shadow, used to being on his own, kept a confidence and aloofness in a herd that usually made him the leader when put with other beasts. He tolerated few in his space. That same pony had found a friend, apparently, in the blood bay pony held next to him by one of the soldiers. The king’s pony. 

_You’ve betrayed me, my dear friend. Know you’ll be replaced in the next town we come to._

He looked back at her, challenging her threat. They both knew she would never be able to do that. She could not outwit this curse.

Soon, the meeting adjourned, and the dwarves returned to mount up. Kíli ended up beside her, a deep frown set into his youthful face that would have alarmed anyone familiar with his consistently jovial self. Cori found it disturbing. “Something wrong?”

He glanced at her, pursing his lips in what could almost have been interpreted as a pout. “Dwalin suggested heading north, and I think Thorin agrees with him.”

She blinked. _What?_ “You do you mean, heading north? The entrance is right there.”

“They want to avoid Mirkwood.”

 _Giver, save me._ “Avoid _what_ in Mirkwood? It’s a straight road.”

“Not to some, Miss Houndberry,” Thorin interrupted, shuffling up to her other side. “While the path is direct, to the majority of its travelers, the passage through the forest is anything but so simple.”

“What’s so difficult about it? I don’t see the problem.”

Thorin scowled at her, eyes frostier than the air. “Of course, you don’t. You lack many qualities that would expose you to the problem.”

“You’ll just have to take our word for it, lass,” Dwalin assured her, looking no less perturbed than his monarch.

Cori was willing to go along with the idea that maybe, just maybe, there was a real issue to be had with entering Mirkwood. She spent the last couple of weeks in the Iron Hills, and then Erebor, so she  was none the wiser to any recent developments in the Woodland Realm. Ever the watchful protector and meddler in hobbit affairs, Gandalf the Grey assumed the duty of warning her of the dangers of traveling the disfigured Greenwood, especially by herself, when she made the grievous mistake of telling him her plans to broaden her commercial enterprise. The things he said were the stuff of nightmares, sending her into a frenzy of wondering whether she should find a different path, or rethink the endeavor altogether. Then she realized that was exactly what he wanted to happen, so, in her usual youthful fashion, she plunged headfirst into Mirkwood. The Old Forest in Buckland left a more nefarious impression on her than the Woodland Realm, to say the least of how it affected her. Then Thorin opened his mouth, and she realized what this was truly all about.

The longest-running grudge in the history of Middle-earth would not be left to rest anytime soon.

She never grasped the feud between the two races that spiraled into a sustaining, mostly passive-aggressive rivalry throughout the centuries. Neither did the other any true harm in the current age; the dwarves hardly emerged from their holes enough to interact, as if they would want to spend any amount of time in the same room with each other. Rivendell had been amusing, as much as it was frustrating, to watch Thorin and his company try so very hard to deny that they needed the elves’ help for whatever part of their quest they could not solve on their own. Here, however, this was just plain ridiculous.

The Old Forest Road was the most efficient route to the West. It had been traversed several times as dwarves continued to pour in from the Blue Mountains, exhausting the ground into hard, bare dirt. And yet, the party she journeyed with now stopped right in their tracks and glared contemptuously at the grove towering above them. And they wanted to go north. _North,_ in this Valar-forsaken cold, would probably kill her. Not to mention waste precious time they seemed so ardent to iterate was running out when they raced out of the mountain like their own dust would bite them. This had to be some kind of joke.

She urged Shadow up in front of the group, staring at each of their faces. “I won’t take your word, actually. You consented for me to come with you, as you _offered_ me a place in this company. Furthermore, I am not contractually bound to you. I have places to be, just like you do, so I’d rather not pretend like anything you’re proposing is rational or will see us to our destination in any better condition than going through the forest. If anyone can say that they have their head on screwed right, you’re free to follow me.”

The consensus remained the same, and even if it had not, no one would have made a move without first checking in with the king. He remained steadfast. She could not help it. Her head fell back, letting out a guffaw that echoed against the trees and left them all glancing amongst each other. _Is she mad?_ was probably the silent question being exchanged. “Just admit it. Your problem is that you don’t want to deal with the elves, and I think it’s the downright pettiest thing I’ve ever seen. You all are a great laugh, I’ll give you that.”

Thorin knocked his heels into his pony’s side, abruptly pulling up beside her. The fire of his many forges now burned deep in his eyes. “Laugh all you want, Miss Hobbit. But this is not as trifle a matter as you think it is. You are certainly aware of the toll required by the elves to safely pass through this _essential_ route, are you not?”

She scoffed. “Of course. I paid it, twice, and I received a handy escort along the way. They were actually quite entertaining. Plenty of stories about their encounters with the dwarves from Ered Luin returning here. Hysterical.”

He grinned humorlessly. “How fortunate for you. However, I will inform you that you were given a reduction, purely because you are _not_ one of those dwarves. It is no secret that the elves demand more from us than any other race of travelers. Yet we are forced to pay it, or waste time and supplies sending our caravans around the forest north or south. Now, however, we will have to pay those ridiculous prices on the limited funds we have brought to help our kin at the end of our journey. Will they care where our money is to go? No. So there you are. Think us cheap, or cowardly, or whatever you like. But if we wish to take a different path, we will do so.”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes to the sky. “Then farewell to you, Your Majesty.” She turned Shadow toward the entrance of the wood, urging him into a trot. So much for her promised accompaniment. It was fun while it lasted, at least.

“Cori!” came Fíli’s startled voice, but she just threw a hand up with a tiny flick of a wave.

The king had it at least partially right. She was perfectly aware that the wood elves demanded a larger toll for the dwarves, though it hardly counted toward prejudice. The dwarves used the road more than anyone else, and the number of them had increased by droves. They were hardly ever without their heavy carts and pack animals. The elves accounted for more than just the dwarves themselves, but also what they brought with them. Cori, however, had herself, two bags of supplies, and her sturdy little steed. So the toll was paltry. And the elves had a right to call for a tax on the road. It was in their territory after all, and what resources remained in the rotting woodland that anyone could help themselves to along the way had to be reimbursed somehow. All an explanation for a seemingly absurd concept needed was communication, and unlike the dwarves, Cori was more than happy to have a chat with the forest-dwellers. They, at least, did not patronize her.

They always seemed to sense when someone stepped onto their lands, materializing from the shadowy undergrowth not even a couple hours after one set foot in Mirkwood. She hoped the same would happen this time. The dwarves had one thing right: the whole place was grisly.

She caught her gaze flickering to and fro, trying to take in both sides of the path at once. This was unsettling. She had not come east to west through the forest before, so the scenery was a mite disorienting at first. But all the heavy traffic as of late kept the path clear and flat, so she would have no trouble taking the relatively straight road to the other side. Still, as she had noticed when she came through a moon earlier, the decaying state of the trees had accelerated since her very first trip to the Iron Hills nearly six years prior. Even though the leaves were gone for the season, it seemed no more open than it would at the beginning of summer. Always a menacing pair of eyes watching in her peripherals. This was not how greenery should be.

Only half an hour and a light dusting of snow later, and she grinned to herself, never admitting that it was partially out of relief. There was no way he could have been that stupid. And he was not so stubborn as to try to prove something when questioned.

The heavy, rapid hoof falls of the ponies thudded on the hard-packed dirt until they were right behind her, plodding along at her pace. Not a word spoken from any of them, and the tension from the group washed over her even with her back to them. She turned to the left, setting a grin to her face and trying not to add too much smarm to it. “Glad you could join me, sir.”

Thorin, clearly pleased as punch, sent her a comical ruffled-feathers look. Then he cleared his throat and set his eyes forward. “I will forget this incident, Miss Houndberry, but I will not tolerate any more insurgent behavior from you as long as you are in my company. As the head of this expedition, you are my responsibility, which is a difficult role to fill when you want to do things your way at all times. Mind me, and I will mind you.”

“Your thoughtfulness is appreciated, but I don’t need a nanny, and certainly not one of your manners.”

“Then hear it this way.” His voice dipped impossibly low. “You have shown me cheek in front of my men multiple times. That will end. You owe me no allegiance, but I have freely opened up my home to you and am currently offering you protection from the beasts that roam these lands, which are far fouler than any cursed wood. Do not make me force consequences onto you for acknowledging my position here in the agreement that _you signed_.”

“You’ll listen to me, too,” she barked, feeling this whole altercation in her head like cutlery on dishware. “You’ve threatened me numerous times already, and for what? Merely existing in the same world as you? I have done _nothing_ to you. The most presumptuous and ignoble thing you could do right now is think you don’t deserve my ‘cheek,’ or my hand across yours.” Pulling Shadow back with a little more force than necessary, she dropped in further down the line, ending up next to Fíli. When Thorin followed her with his eyes, she stared right back, making sure he knew just how much of a bad idea it was to spur her on. She had no more patience left to let him save face in front of his warriors and kin. If he wanted to feud, he had better be ready for a pissed-off hobbit.

“Cori,” Fíli addressed her, a chiding tone in his sigh, “you’d be better off with the orcs if you keep going on like that.”

"Please, prince,” she murmured. “You don’t know the full story. Don’t assume I’m the instigator.”

He lifted his hands up where they rested on the pommel of his saddle. “Like we said before, he’s behaving unusually around you, compared to what we’ve seen. He’s unpredictable.”

Coddling _._ Why all the _coddling_? “Don’t you worry your pretty self into complete distress, Fíli. Trust me. I can handle your uncle.”

His lips fell open slightly, and his eyes dashed away to peer between the ears of his pony. “As…as you wish.” He stared straight ahead for quite some time afterward, completely perturbed in the face.

Handling the king was one thing. Handling herself around him was becoming a task with slimming chances for success. She had not a clue where to be around him. One moment, he was civil, the next, he was in her face trying to control her. The reason she took to a life as a nomad came back to escaping those who would try to restrain her feet and her mind. While Oakenshield did not necessarily put ideals into her mind, he made sure to remind her often that she needed to be on her toes around him. He enjoyed the power he had, scaring her into, what, not attempting some kind of mischief toward his people? Did his general suspicion of everyone not bound for Aulë’s halls cause him to see malicious intent where there was none? Certainly, she had given him plenty of things to make a better judgment of her.

 _Oh, no. I’m caring about this._ What had dwelling on that dwarf gained her in the past? A headache and more uncomfortable sleep than usual. No, not this time.

Speaking of, as their walk through the forest continued, a bit more subdued beneath the shade of the trees, Cori felt the claws of guilt reaching into her stomach. She had to do something about it. “I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, startling the blond dwarf staring ahead, lost in his thoughts. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

A little redder in the face, he nodded. “I’d be the first to admit how stubborn and irritating he can be. But he has a good heart for people. He cares, just has a hard time showing it the correct way.”

“Our disagreements are between me and him. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“I get it, Cori,” he chuckled. “I understand your aggravation, I do. I’m certainly not going to hold a grudge against you for speaking your mind. He doesn’t either, I promise. He’s nearly begged for criticism over the past year.”

That had her eyes widening. Advice was one thing. Blatantly desiring his flaws to be brought out? What kind of king was this?

_A good one. Your bad blood matters little in the grand scheme of things._

What an infuriatingly accurate conception.

They carried on for quite some time, taking up shelter beneath a tree in the evening as the snow turned into ice pellets. The precipitation was done by morning, leaving only boot sole-deep accumulation on the ground. The dwarves were relieved to have avoided seeing any elves, tossing around the idea that maybe they could sneak in and out of the forest without losing a bit of coin. Cori, still chafing about their tar-heeled start to this forest crossing, kept her distance from them as they rode on, completely exhausted of their cackling and chattering. The overcast clouds above them threatening more snow later kept the forest around them dim and sullen. More than once, a shadow made her jerk her hand up to reach for her sword or bow, whichever one would be needed. The jumpiness made her even more steamed. She usually had a better grip on her nerves. It drew attention.

“She’s bringing a whole new meaning to ‘blazing the trail,’” Kíli snickered to his brother from somewhere behind her, clearly giving no thought to whether or not she had the hearing of a healthy, young woman. “If everything in here wasn’t dead or dying already, it would be burnt to ash.”

“She’s a hobbit, Kíli,” Fíli replied, a little quieter. “You heard her. She wouldn’t take anything out on plants. It’s our own hides we’ll have to worry about. But it’s the forest, you know it is. Remember what happened to us?”

“Honestly, I don’t remember half of what happened in here before the elves found us. Just a blur of hunger and ire, quite like a too-long night at the pub.”

"We all would’ve killed each other had the spiders not come and tried to do the same first. I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel a bit petulant at the moment. I was afraid of this. Hopefully, we can leave this place before someone gets too cranky.”

“Oh, I think it’s a bit late for that.”

That boy, however, had a long neck, ripe for the wrenching.

“I was talking generally, but sure.”

“What happened the last time you came through?” she tossed over her shoulder, effectively startling them. And they had the decency to look sheepish, too, when she had pulled back to ride beside them.

“It was during the Quest for Erebor,” Kíli began. “The wizard Gandalf, who had been traveling with us, warned us about dark spells within the forest. A deep magic that can influence the mind and wreak havoc on your senses.”

"It all seemed a bit exaggerated just before we entered the forest,” Fíli continued. “Though we certainly knew something wasn’t right just by looking at it.”

“Gandalf seemed to know what he was talking about most of the time, though. He told us repeatedly never to leave the path, so we didn’t. And for several days, we pressed onward, following it without a problem. Then things become muddled. We don’t remember a great deal of what happened up until the point that we were captured by the wood elves. None of us do. And then suddenly, there was no more path. It’s like we were walking while asleep.”

“A nightmare.” Fíli grimaced at the ground. “I heard voices. They echoed from all the dark shadows we passed, but no one ever seemed to hear what I did. They always sounded familiar, and welcoming. But Gandalf’s warning was there, overpowering it. Who knows what would’ve happened if I’d gone after them? And then the spiders.”

“Eck!” Kíli wiggled his left foot, the rest of him following in a full-body shudder. “Disgusting.”

“Spiders?” Cori repeated, wondering if she missed some valuable information about a dwarvish phobia of spiders that may come in handy later.

“Not the kind you find making a home of your boot,” Fíli explained. “As in, the kind that will pick you up and carry you off without allowing you so much as a ‘what gives.’ I’ve only ever felt more satisfaction in killing orcs, and only because they’re just a bit bigger.”

That sounded a whole lot like something she would have a phobia for. She fought a laugh. Who could trust someone with such a tale that admitted they were hallucinating? Giant spiders. Preposterous idea.

Cori glanced between the brothers, her brow furrowing. Fíli stared around at the overgrowth as if waiting for said creatures to crawl out of their depths. The younger dwarf, however, seemed almost hopeful for something to appear. He hankered for a little action, she knew, but this was not anticipation for a thorough use of his sword. Come to think of it, when told they would not be going through Mirkwood, he took on a convincing disheartened demeanor. He looked away immediately when he noticed her studying him. Odd little fellow.

“What is that?” someone suddenly called out, nearly startling everyone out of their saddles. One of the guards, typically the first to reach for his ax when something stirred in the bushes, stared off into the forest with eyes rounder than pony hooves. Cori followed his gaze, scoffing under her breath. The woods were completely still and silent, as they had been the entire ride.

“What’d you see?” another dwarf asked, fists wrapped tightly around the handle of his sword, frantically glancing between his companion and the place he expected the danger to materialize from.

“Just a flash. But it was big. No bird and nothin’ like that.”

“There aren’t any birds in here anyway,” an anxious voice quivered from within the stirring crowd.

"Nothing is real,” Thorin suddenly shouted from the front of the line. The king stopped in the middle of the road, turning his pony around to face them. “You will hear, see, and smell things, but it is only magic. A trick of the senses. Ignore it. Never venture off alone. This forest is full of apparitions.”

“I saw it again!”

Mass confusion was imminent, and Cori fought to keep her pony calm with the rising tensions. So when their king decides to actually speak sense, they choose not to listen? She searched in the same spot that everyone frantically backed away from, expecting it to be a hallucination only they could see. However, a shadow darted in between the twisted branches, and a grin crept across her face. _Finally._

As if unraveled from the trees themselves, the elves stepped out into the open, distinctly keeping their bows and knives strapped to their persons. The dwarves, however, missed this simple message and immediately reached for their waists and over their shoulders with a cry of alarm. Nothing to fear for the elves, though; their nonchalance to having some of the finest steel in Middle-earth pointed at them bordered comical. On top of the fact that they were eye level with the dwarves on their ponies, which surely raised a few hackles for more reasons than one. The four sentries, three females and a male, surveyed the group in the unearthly serene manner common amongst all of elvish blood, patiently awaiting the conclusion of the outburst.

“Lower your weapons!” Thorin commanded, looking every bit like somebody going against his better instincts quite painfully. But he rode to the front of the party with his curved sword still resting on his back. His stare acted as the weapon instead, and it measured up. Gradually, the dwarves obeyed, their sharp eyes fixed to the newcomers. “What business do you have sneaking up on us?”

“You saw us coming, king,” the leader of the band replied, a smirk across her narrow face. “You would not have if we were ‘sneaking.’ I believe you know what we’re here for.”

“Our matters require immediate attention, elf,” Thorin growled. He was under the impression that sheer stubbornness would turn the situation in his favor. Wood elves had little tolerance for such things.

“And you may return to them,” she retorted with a voice as soft as birdsong, somewhat familiar in the hobbit’s distant memory. Ah, yes, her guide from her first trip here six years ago. “But after you have paid us for our service.”

Thorin the diplomat clearly had trouble keeping a composure befitting interacting with someone he had a peace treaty with. Any words he spoke now had to be chosen carefully; Cori could believe rumors circulating about the Elvenking and his quick decisive temper giving leave for his soldiers’ loose interpretation. “You will be paid for our passage upon our return to Erebor.”

“And when is that?” the male elf demanded, taking an aggressive step forward to align himself with his associate.

“To be determined.”

The first elf clicked her tongue. “That will not do, I’m afraid. Surely you have something you can part with. Dwarves are never without their bountiful purses.”

“If I may.” Curious and confused eyes drifted to the strong but respectful voice lifting up from the back of the cluster. Cori gaped at the calm, almost pleasant grin Kíli sprouted as he rode up beside his uncle. She braced for a youthful explosion of passion. “Truly, we have very little on this venture to spare for ourselves. There is trouble with our kin in Ered Luin and most of what we carry will go toward their benefit, not ours. You have our solemn pledge that we will honor this debt once we return to Erebor, but right now, our money must be diverted elsewhere.”

How so very interesting, this little display. The hobbit never would have envisioned this lad could hold his own so well in a courtly debate. Such flourishing potential, however, would have to be thwarted by the tedious tenacity of the wood elves.

“Fair story,” the leader replied, turning to exchange a small smile with her companions. “However, the answer is no. You will pay the toll as everyone else does.”

“Now listen here, you pointy-eared leaf-eaters!” Dwalin burst out. “We got a long road ahead o’ us, and a great lot o’ trouble waitin’ for us at the end! I don’ think you’ve—ah!”

Cori let go of us beard tuft, tossing her bag of coins to the elves. It was about time this whole charade ended. “Take what you need from it. I’d like the rest back, please.”

The elf caught it with one hand despite never looking in Cori’s direction, a little taken aback by the hobbit’s sudden appearance. She said nothing, though, sifting through the pouch as instructed.

Thorin turned in his saddle to glare at her, but she ignored it. What did he expect to happen? If they stood there and argued long enough, the elves would beg for mercy and take off? They would spin in circles for hours, neither side giving in, and all that time they could have used getting out of this place would be aimed toward a futile battle solved by a few pieces of silver. She had to end it all now before the strained relationship of the two occupant races of the East frayed and snapped once again. _By Eru, it’s only been a year! Take a break!_

Eventually, the elf collected her coins and threw the bag back. “Many thanks, Miss Hobbit. We look forward to serving your passage through Mirkwood in the future.”

“It’ll be a good number of years, but thank you.” Tossing a pleading look at Thorin to let it lie, she twisted Shadow around to take up the trail, praying the dwarves followed. When the elves disappeared into the forest without so much as a final acknowledgement to the company, she became their only option besides standing awkwardly in the road. Mutual grumbling restarted the conversation, blowing away the tense silence.

Hoof beats chased after Shadow as Cori returned her pouch to her saddle bags, and she braced for the lashing she would receive. What she did not expect was a large hand to grip her wrist, causing the reins to jerk her pony to a sudden stop. She glowered at the scowl set on her, but steam already poured from Thorin’s ears. “What did you think you were doing?”

“Preventing you from doing something you’d regret,” she replied wryly. “I was getting bored.”

“You have no right to interfere in diplomatic affairs.”

“There was nothing ‘diplomatic’ about goading them on. Come on, you knew they weren’t going to let us go. Giving them what they wanted was our only chance at leaving this forest, or would you like to become their captive again?”

He shot a look back at his nephews, startled and indignant by their loose tongues. Obviously, he had not made it clear that the details of their quest should remain classified. “I had not anticipated your first purchase with your reward to be with wood elves.”

“Relax. That was what I’d earned for my furs in the Iron Hills. Not a penny of yours.”

That caught him off guard, and he cocked his head at her. His lips parted, ready to speak up, but he just look to the ground in front of them and blinked. “You…shouldn’t have done that.”

“You know, it’s been a while since I was told what to do with my own money. Might take a lesson at how well the last one went over. You’ve got a broad imagination, I’m sure.”

Still baffled, he only nodded to her, leaving it at that as he veered away. She grinned. A very dandy feeling it was to be the one to throw him for a loop every now and then.

“Wasn’t very nice, what ya did to my beard.” Dwalin took his place at her side. “Have mercy on the hair I have left.”

She snorted. “Serves you right when you insult pointy ears.” Her finger curved around the tip poking out from her hair.

He grinned, tipping his head down. “That wasn’t to you. You know I like ya.”

Kíli’s words about the captain’s partiality to hobbits seemed more believable as the days of their journey passed. He always had a grin for her, much like the one he sported now, and thanked her wholeheartedly for her “unprecedented” cooking. No, he certainly had no disgruntlement with her.

“Appreciate the jump-in, lass. A fine thing that was.”

“You better.” She glowered. “You were about to lead the company against them over a small bit of money. And you all thought I was crazy for refusing to travel with you in case of such an occurrence.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing you decided to come along anyway. No chance of this company flying off the handle with you around.”

If her efforts were not foiled by his authority-needy king.

         ******************************

The perturbation from the day carried on into the night for the little hobbit. It had to be the forest, she was certain. Never had she felt so much ire and aggravation for the simplest, most subdued behavior she had ever seen from dwarves. The company was tired and wary of their position, still seething from the encounter with the elves but mostly silent about it in all but their expressions. Nobody was in a good mood, but their obvious avoidance of her told Cori that she had to be in the most abysmal state.

Thorin stared at her, as if he had found his new favorite pastime. If anything could describe the expression on his face, it would be troubled. Angry, though, hardly covered it; frustratingly perplexed perhaps? Was it hitting him, finally, that she had no ill intentions for anyone and wanted only to survive in this complicated, carnivorous world? The stubborn mule that he was, he would probably continue to come up with excuses for keeping his guard up around her while his nephews all but adopted her into their fold. That would certainly get old after a while; the same annoying routine of suspicious stares that dually reminded her how low on the society ladder she was compared to the “King Under the Mountain.” A while was approaching fast.

Then the boys spent the entire evening tossing nuts back and forth to each other across the fire, expertly catching each one in their mouths as if they had spent countless hours practicing nothing but. The distraction would never have bothered her in the past, however, she wanted nothing more than to concentrate on cleaning her bow and sword in the unnerving quiet of the forest. So when she finally settled down to sleep, her head pounding and stuffy, she almost moaned in bliss at the relief.

She awoke after what probably could not have been a few hours to something resembling a small whimper. Muffled and echoed, it barely broke through the haze still gripping her head. That sound would never be made by one of the older baritone dwarves; it had to be Fíli or Kíli. If they were goofing around on their watch, disrupting her precious sleep, she would not hesitate to lay into them about the importance of attracting unwanted attention on the road, whether or not they had ever had the lecture before (if they did, it had not stuck, and she would make sure it did). She rolled over and stared at the spot the watch had taken his place that evening, hoping they were looking directly at her so the full force of her temper would be unleashed. But something lay in the way. Thorin, who had unquestionably not been there when she went to sleep, rested beside her, his nose pointing like an arrow to the tree canopies above. Beyond him, the watchman sat against his tree, one hand holding a piece of wood and the other his pipe, completely dead to the world. _That_ was neither Fíli nor Kíli. They were actually back-to-back, snoring away at Thorin’s feet.

_Probably heard the one bird that decided to make its home here for some reason._

She rolled back over, letting a breath out to calm the tempest churning in her belly. And she stopped.

“Auntie Cori.”

Her eyes fluttered rapidly, waiting for the sight to disappear. It could not, after all, actually be there. It would disappear in a second, and she would go back to sleep, pretending as if this never happened.

But he was right there.

“Teagan?” she whispered tentatively, sitting up. Her nephew, five years old at her last visit to the Shire, stood in front of the wide, ghastly tree curling at unnatural angles. He did not fit there, his sprightly disposition and her brother-in-law’s bright yellow hair contrasting with the dark, dull forest. “Teagan, how did you get here?” Against the heaviness in her head and the protesting of her drained body, she slid her legs beneath her and stood up shakily. Everything tilted, but her focus remained on the little hobbit boy smiling up at her as he always did.

“Come on, Auntie Cori!” Suddenly, he spun around and bolted into the trees, an enchanting little giggle following him. “I have to show you something!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Cori darted after him, jumping over the root of the twisting tree. The light of the waning cook fire disappeared instantly, but he was in front of her, plain as if it were daytime. Real, solid. She had to get after him before he hurt himself in this Valar-forsaken place. “Teagan, wait!” True to form, he heeded no one, especially not his absentee relative.

She could hardly keep up. His energy never depleted, it seemed, but this was entirely unexpected. She twisted and ducked around the tangled mess of forestry, calling out his name again around her panting. Just when she was certain he would disappear into the night without a trace, he stopped.

“Oh, lad, you will be the death of me,” she wheezed, leaning against a tree with a hand on her heaving ribs. How could his little legs carry him so far so fast? “I see nothing out here, Teagan. What did you want to show me?” She stepped around the back of the trunk, moving to approach him and pull him into her arms for a long-delayed embrace.

“Auntie.” The voice made her pause. The quiver in it struck her like a swift hand to the face. He turned around to face her, and her hands flew to her mouth. Where a smudge of dirt had taken to his cheek, now soot streaked across his tan skin. Ash settled as little specks of grey in his dirty hair, and the properly pressed shirt and trousers were dotted with burn holes and frayed ends.

Oh, Yavanna, his arm. The flesh from his elbow downward had blistered almost black and blood trickled down his wrist, dripping from the ends of his tiny fingers.

Smoke filled the forest, choking her.

“Where’s Mama?” he asked, the words scratching from his throat and trembling when his jaw did so. “Where’s Papa? They said to wait for them. They’d be back for us. ‘Monsters,’ she said. What do the ‘monsters’ want?”

Cori felt the breath leave her chest and fail to return. Something screamed in her ear, and she pressed her hands to them. Cries of pain, terror, and anguish pierced her head. When she could open her eyes, she found Teagan had not left, only standing where he had before, looking at her, waiting for her answer. She had none. She had to leave. Turning away from the stomach-churning sight, she dashed the way she had come. Her boots caught onto roots and branches, striking pain into her feet and legs. But she ignored it, and dared not to look back. The screams intensified, drowning out everything. She needed to get out. She had to get fresh air. But the trees went on endlessly, squeezing her tightly. She had to get out.

Her whole body struck something she had not seen in her path before, the impenetrable mass sending her painfully onto her back. All at once, the screams stopped, and the blackness which had shrunken her vision to a mere dot fled at once. She blinked, trying to take in all the stuffy cold air that she could.

“Hey.”

Before she could respond to the voice, a hand wrapped around her wrist and tugged her onto her feet. When she looked up at the source, her gaze locked with a pair of pale blue eyes that impossibly shined within the darkness. Thorin. “What did I say about wandering off on your own? You’re lucky I saw you leave and followed you. You were running away from camp just now, you know.”

She dared, then, to glance around at her surroundings, her throat and chest still screaming for air. The forest was clear of smoke, not even a foggy haze. And her nephew, the boy that looked so solid in front of her, was nowhere to be seen. She would have groaned aloud, were she not struggling to breathe. Mirkwood had gotten to her.

“What’s wrong?” Thorin asked, reminding her that she was not alone now. “Did you see something?”

She gritted her teeth, trying to swipe away the image seared permanently at the front of her mind. Stubborn, it remained in her peripherals to taunt her. “Nothing you need be concerned with. Which way is back?”

He pointed behind him, keeping his eyes on her face. She made sure he would not find what he was looking for as she started off for camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mirkwood! And lots of drama!
> 
> <3


	7. What the Light Shows

And suddenly, Cori found herself in complete alliance with the dwarves, even if it was just on one thing. The latest act that genuinely gained her approval: they made a mad scramble to get out of Mirkwood, so mad they rode well into the night of the following day and hopped up from their bedrolls before dawn. Had they not come to that decision on their own, in all likelihood, she would have galloped to the other side without so much as a happy trails to them, possibly setting a record for the fastest crossing of the Greenwood this age. She was exhausted of these demented curses and evil enchantments.

She wanted to scream with triumph and joy when they arose from beneath the fingerlike shadows in the leafless trees, but all her concentration centered on breathing in the pure, clean air and not bursting into tears. It was the greatest relief to know her delirium had a genuine source, and insanity had no part in it. She could put this behind her now that the forest was there, too. It was all a dream.

Thanks to their haste, the company made great time in their lunge toward the Misty Mountains. It was the perfect opportunity to rub an “I told you so” in His Majesty’s face, except she decided to turn the tables and pretend he did not exist.

As if she had not expected this, but Thorin told them about her little frolic through the forest in the dead of night. He knew she had seen something, though he had enough decency not to inquire; the details were inconsequential anyway. What mattered was the treatment she received from the rest of the company during their last hours within that destitute place. They were constantly on their toes, waiting for her to take off running after some invisible specter, especially the royals.

If they started holding her hand, she would have popped a blood vessel in the screaming fit that proceeded.

“A regular answer to nature’s call,” she explained to them with a shrug. “Thought I saw an unusual shadow and decided to high-tail it back to camp, but I guess I got turned around.”

“Nothing but unusual shadows in that place,” Dwalin growled, turning briefly in his saddle to glare a final salute to the sickly wood now a good few miles behind them. Still, he seemed a little lighter in his carriage of himself than before. Everyone felt the sweet respite she had. “That place leaves you with a mark for some time after you leave. Things popping up in the corner of your eye. See any more questionable occurrences, let us know so we don’t find you stuck down a hole somewhere.”

She scowled playfully. “Noted, Mister Dwalin. I’ll be sure to do that.” Her head had never been clearer. If in their haste to keep her safe from herself they approached parenting, she would not hesitate to inform them that she had done just fine without her parents for over a decade. But when looking upon her now, Dwalin held neither sarcasm nor mockery in his gaze. Genuine comradery, she would call it, as she dared not cross over that border to friendship just yet. “So, now that we have that behind us, which way next?”

“North, Miss Houndberry,” Thorin called from the front of the troop, not bothering to turn around. “Just a short distance. Then I believe we have time for a quick detour.”

The brothers made a great show of approval, and Cori cocked her head, confused. “To where?”

Kíli gaped in bewilderment. “Surely you’ve heard of the skinchanger, Beorn.”

Well, of course, she had. No one crosses through the Wilderland without first earning the approval of the land’s most devoted protector. She knew he lived in this area, though she had never actually seen his house, meeting him out in the woods instead and graciously declining his offer of food and a bed for the night, twice. She had been eager to reach her destination after the nearly-impassable Misty Mountains delayed her in her inexperience at traversing such terrain. She had also heard he took part in the Battle of the Five Armies, assisting the dwarves, elves, and Men in taking down the orc army. In fact, he was highly praised for being a monumental turning point in a fight that was on the verge of becoming a devastating defeat.

“He insisted on us stopping in if we were ever passing through,” Dwalin continued. “Fella didn’t know what he was getting into when extending hospitality to dwarves.”

“Again,” Fíli finished, joining the bald warrior in a round of chuckles.

“Wait. You met him before the battle?”

“Aye,” Dwalin replied, shifting his sore body in the saddle. “He gave us a bit of a scare when we were running from those bloody orcs. The ones that tried to take Erebor? They’d been after us for most of the journey.”

“They had wargs with them, too,” Kíli butted in, looking decidedly nauseous all of a sudden.

“Then we had to stay in _his_ house and face him the next morn,” Dwalin continued. “Shoulda seen how rattled the wizard was.”

Any and all interaction with the skinchanger on her part had been entirely absent of this ferociousness they were describing. He was friendlier than most she came across, despite his alarming appearance

“But he chose _not_ to rip us to shreds and snack on us for breakfast like we were originally warned he would,” Fíli concluded. “And so we had our first decent meal in ages. And Mahal, was it delicious.”

“I think Bombur would take offense to that,” Kíli warned with a smile.

“Naw, I’m sure he’d agree,” Dwalin interjected.

Kíli pouted. “He hasn’t since made those honey cakes like he said he would, has he? I miss those.”

“Honey’s pretty hard to come by at the moment when all we’re worried about getting is the basics for survival.” Dwalin shrugged.

“I’m going to wager that’s what we’re heading up there for,” Cori said. “Sweets.”

“Like I said,” the inked dwarf replied, “he shouldn’t have offered us a bed and food.”

A company of fifteen people had dropped in unannounced, and Beorn had fed them, benevolent as he was. If they spoke true, twelve would not have a much of an impact. Still, the way they recanted their tale of the Quest, they had had reason to believe Beorn was anything but kind. Gandalf sowed mischief, but to entirely twist someone’s personality around like that? At any rate, Beorn must have held the dwarves in high regard if he offered to shelter them once again.

Once the conversation died down, Cori realized she was now riding next to the older prince who had taken up a fish-out-of-water impression as he floundered for the right words to say in whatever topic he wanted to discuss. She felt a smile crawl onto her face. “I haven’t practiced telepathy, Fíli. What is it?”

He sighed in resignation. “I was deciding on whether or not you would hit me for asking if you’re all right.”

If he was asking after her general well-being at the moment, she would gladly assure him that he was not in any danger from her hand (since when did she come across as so violent?). But, of course, he could be referring to _that,_ which she would watch in amusement as he walked on hot coals. “I am fine, Fíli. Thank you for being sweet.”

He nodded, staring down at the reins in his hands. “If you want to talk…”

“I don’t.” She could feel her grin straining.

“Look, Thorin didn’t tell me anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. But I know what you thought you saw in Mirkwood was impactful on you. You barely spoke a word until we left the trees. Everything questionable in that place is a trick of the mind, but that doesn’t negate how real those hallucinations can be. I saw things, too, my first time through there. I was sure they, _he_ , was right there. And it left an impression on me. If you need an ear, I promise I have one that will not listen with the intention to judge.”

She wanted to snap at him again, and what a strong, defensive impulse it was. But he, like Dwalin, held no lie or deception in his eyes. His concern was genuine. Why? Did there need to be a why? Was it not enough that some people were just nice? It had taken her this long to figure it out. “Thank you, honey. Really, I’m all right. But I appreciate the offer.”

He nodded, patting her knee affectionately. His expression after that was pleased, light with a small smile nestled on his tilted chin.

The day ended quickly, as the sun had been high when they extricated themselves from Mirkwood. The night was clear, the moon casting a bright glow onto the Anduin and the little campsite they put together on its banks. A deep chill hung in the air, drawing everyone closer to their fire and the steaming food hanging over it, but Cori had the lingering urge to scrub every inch of that grisly forest off her skin. No winter air or frigid flowing water would stop her. “If you’ll excuse me, gents,” she announced after opening up the stew pot for each dwarf to receive his portion of the meal and collecting a few rags and a blanket from her bags. Just as she passed the edge of the camp, however, a familiar dark mass stood in her way. Oh, what now? “If you’ll excuse me,” she repeated, pointedly glaring into the nearly luminous blue eyes.

“Where are you going?” Thorin asked plainly, unable to entirely smother the hint of suspicion in his tone.

“To take care of some… _things_. You know, I’m usually alone at night next to the fire. Like to imagine I’m in a warm tavern room with a fireplace and a bed and a good-looking fellow. It’ll be a challenge while I’m shivering in the cold, but I think I'm up to it.”

One brow lifted dismissively; he almost seemed patient as he waited.

She rolled her eyes. All right, not in the mood. As if he ever is. “To have a bath while everyone’s too occupied to spy on me.”

He nodded, glancing toward the river. “How would you react if I told you to take someone with you?”

“The way you expect me to because you’re smart.”

He smirked, dragging in a deep breath as if a giant boulder were attached to it. “Fine. Stay alert. Do not take long.”

“Now, Mister Oakenshield. You can’t rush a girl during her ‘lady time.’ It doesn’t quite work the same as it does for males.”

He set a chastening look on her. “Funny.”

“Yeah, I thought so. Of course, you’re free to join me if you think I shouldn’t be away for too long. You seem like the kind of man that can get things done quick.”

To his credit, he barely reacted. Except…oh, that could not be a flush, could it? “No one will disturb your _bath._ You will have your privacy.”

“Well, that’s a clear rejection, if I ever heard one. No, I understand.” She stroked her chin. “The peach fuzz certainly seems a bit lacking compared to your well-whiskered dames. Off-putting, I’m sure.”

His brow pinched. “You are not unsightly.”

She grinned. “How benignant of you, Your Majesty.” Patting his chest, she stepped around him and trotted down the embankment to the gently-flowing river. She hid her giggle behind her hand. That was too easy, and exceedingly too much fun.

Only a few paces from the light of the fire—unsettlingly bright in the open country stretching around them—Cori found the perfect cluster of rocks to press against. The dwarves getting twitchy over a hobbit, as he had assured her against? Unlikely. She was more worried about potential vagabonds who would, in fact, stoop so low. But what were a bunch of dwarves who adhered to a contract to protect her if they did not answer a loud scream for help? Daring enough only to remove a few layers, she knelt at the water and dipped her rag in. It was bearable, provided she moved quickly and covered back up as soon as possible. She had jumped in entirely when the water was this cold, but the circumstances at that time called for a little more scrubbing than just wiping road grime off her skin. The relaxing moment away from the group came entirely welcomed; while her suggestions had been in jest, her female mind recoiled at being so outnumbered, as opposed to her usual state of equally balancing the two with Shadow. However, she would make for a liar if she said every moment in their presence was poignant.

About time she faced facts, and that she had been woefully ignorant from the very beginning. The dwarves she now traveled with did not entirely represent their race, but neither did the others she had come across in her journey. Less than a month she had been on the road with them, and that was plenty of time to admit that they were kind and good to her, better than she had experienced in many places with varying races. How naïve of her, and positively reflective of her relatives and fellow hobbits, to judge a whole group of people by a select number of individuals, most being under inebriation and the other performing business transactions entirely tactlessly. Yes, these dwarves were _painfully_ stubborn, a trait that had cost her an aching head in more than one instance so far. But they wished no ill on her and had only offered their help in what they felt to be duty for an appreciated deed, which in itself was a noble act even if it happened to be their only motivation.

She paused in her scrubbing, sitting back on her heels and staring across the water with sightless eyes. Could she actually let herself be that arrogant? Openly dissolving any real evidence of their infamous suspicion where she was concerned, they esteemed her. And what had she done? Given them the cold shoulder, actively committing what she told herself was _their_ blunder. Oh, she could not stand hypocrisy. Her skin, though outwardly clean, itched profusely.

Thorin remained the only thing she was not entirely sure on.

When her teeth began to chatter, she took that as a sign to return to the warmth of the fire. With her furs wrapped around her body once more, she opted for a brisk jog back to camp in order to stave off frostbite on the way there; her damp skin protested her momentary vanity, but nothing could convince her to recant the delight of being clean.

As she strolled back into the small fire-lit circle, however, something seemed amiss. Oh, right, it was as quiet as a summer meadow in an afternoon breeze, and _every_ eye was on her. She halted, glancing around cautiously at the scowls pinning her in place. “Something wrong?”

Out of the entire group of grumpy dwarves, Kíli seemed to take the lead in peevishness. In fact, he looked personally affronted. That was the last thing Cori would ever try to accomplish. “Is there?”

Her heartrate jumped, and her mind raced through a thousand scenarios that could have prompted this. Had she let something slip? Something that should not have been said, because there was an abundance of those? She turned to Thorin; surely he would not try to skew some untruth about her out of pettiness. He had his back to a rock, the slightest twitch of a smile on his face and impishness gleaming in his eyes. Or maybe it was possible. “I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about.”

“You think you’re funny, dontcha?” Dwalin rumbled, a dangerous sound coming from deep in his chest. “A dwarf’s food ain’t something to be playing with.”

Cori rolled her eyes. “If it was bad, it had nothing to do with me. Ion is in charge of the inventory; I just prepare what he gives me. Probably got some kind of fungus on it from the forest.”

“The young prince shot down a decent-sized deer this afternoon,” Ion entered the conversation. “The meat was prepared, ready to be added to the stew tonight. But you know what was missin’ from the stew? The deer! Nothin’ but those rotting vegetables I’ve been tellin’ ya to toss out. Not even a hint of flavor in that blasted slop.”

“Not something easily forgotten,” Kíli grumbled, lip jutted out in a pout. “Want to explain yourself?”

She could hold on no longer. The giggles that had so far been held back by a bite to the inner cheek erupted, stealing the words that had almost made it from her mouth. A hopeless cause, trying to sink her frolics, when almost a dozen utterly betrayed faces stared up at her with varying degrees of sadness and anger. Then they became uncomfortable as she could not stop, and that made her snort.

“We’d like a word from ya before you die, lass,” Dwalin said, absolutely deadpanned, and she covered her mouth against a new fit.

“Look at you all,” she wheezed, standing up straight to take a deep breath and smother any more. “You’re all much too easy, you know that? Maybe next time you’ll think twice before putting yourselves in situations where I have to singlehandedly dig you out of your own graves.”

The dwarves looked between each other, perplexed, but only one seemed to really catch on. Flabbergasted, Dwalin stared straight at her with a gaping mouth. “You made us eat a meal of entirely vegetables as _payback_ for the elves?”

“If you wanted reimbursement, you could’ve just asked,” Fíli groaned, glaring at the empty bowl sitting next to him. A slight sneer of disgust quivered in his lip.

“This is all the payment I needed, thank you.” Cori plopped down next to her things, holding out her hands to the fire. Her frozen skin slowly began to thaw, warming her in a way that would lull her to sleep tonight, with any luck. After getting hardly a wink in Mirkwood, she hoped to be entirely rested tonight, as she would have watch the next three camps. “And those vegetables weren’t rotten quite yet, Master Ion. Remember? If there’s one thing I know, it’s plants. But we’d certainly have to finish them off at some point, or waste them, so why not all at once? Now you don’t have to worry about them.”

“So we should thank you for your deception?” Kíli asked, the most offended he had ever been in her presence. “I thought you couldn’t possibly have an evil bone in your body. I’ve never been so wrong.”

 _A little dramatic, methinks._ “Evil would be poisoning you. Not like I didn’t give you anything healthy. Now I know that none of you can take a joke. I’ll remember that so I can remind you what hypocrites you are in reversed roles.”

Surprising the majority of people around the fire, a smooth chuckle arose from amongst the groans of despair. Thorin’s eyes twinkled against the light as he smiled at his nephews. “Serves you right for all those pranks you pulled on Master Baggins. Now, when you’ve met your match, you can’t take it.”

“That’s not true,” Fíli defended. “We never touched any of Bilbo’s meals. Food is off limits.”

“How convenient,” Cori murmured, pulling a piece of seedcake from her pack and tucking in. All this complaining they were doing, and yet, they left nothing in the pot for her. Oh, yes, the stew had most certainly been torture. Maybe she vastly underestimated her cooking skills.

“You two were relentless toward the little lad,” Dwalin chuckled.

“What’d they do?” Cori inquired.

Unsurprisingly, the boys responded with mischievous grins, not a hint of remorse and all the pride in the world. Fíli shrugged a shoulder. “It was easy to tell he hadn't traveled very far from his home before. Scared him half to death mostly. Exaggerations about what we might face. Orcs. Wolves. Bofur knocked him clear across the floor just with his description of the dragon.”

“Well, they were mostly true, when you think about it,” Kíli interjected. “We just didn’t break him in gently. He may have looked a little pale once we were done talking, but he faced everything in stride, despite what we put in his head.”

“I’m surprised that you managed to pull him out of his hole,” Cori mumbled around her cake. She knew very little on the current and sole owner of Bag End in Hobbiton, had met him only a handful of times, and certainly would not have if they did not share the tiniest bit of diluted blood. But what she did know was that he followed the same pattern as any regular hobbit of the Shire, preferring his pantry and his living room to adventures in faraway places. For him to have been coaxed from his grand smial by a group of strange dwarves counted as one of the strangest occurrences to befall his sleepy little town. But she knew why, while many other hobbits would be quick to trounce her claims: they were all just a bit curious about the world outside the Shire.

“I’d give most credit to Gandalf,” Fíli said. “He was adamant that Bilbo share our quest for whatever reason, even when Bilbo tried to back out in all his tactfulness. A necessity, Gandalf claimed, and after how that whole affair turned out, I wouldn’t hesitate to commend him on his extremely accurate assertion.”

Dwalin let out a long-drawn whistle. “Hate to say it, but we’d have gotten nowhere in a hurry without ‘im.”

“So he actually went into Erebor with the dragon?” Cori inquired, falling back on her sheer astonishment when she learned of Bilbo’s place in the company during their encounter at Rivendell. She had no idea what he could possibly have been doing with them, but assumed, with Gandalf there, that he had to have some kind of purpose. Then, anytime someone mentioned Bilbo during the last few weeks they had been on this journey, Dwalin called him “burglar,” and the stars aligned.

“Did more than that,” Kíli beamed with pride. “Saved our arses more times than any of us would like to admit. He kept the trolls from gnawing on us, snuck us out of Thranduil's halls. He even stood up against bloody orcs, saving Thorin’s life with his little toothpick.”

Cori looked to the dark-haired king for confirmation. He just nodded. Well, his admission was nearly all the proof she needed for the validation of that statement. She now knew more about Bilbo Baggins than she ever thought she would, and it was the most important knowledge she could probably gain about him. “Suppose he has to have a partially decent character to be driven to put his life at risk for His Royal Grouch.”

Thorin’s grin was a little dry, but he replied, “You’re not wrong, Miss Houndberry.”

“His heart was certainly in the right place,” Dwalin conceded, “though his head was another matter entirely. Lad’s got wits like I’ve never seen before, but he had a bit of trouble thinking far enough ahead.”

Cori frowned. “What does that mean?”

Fíli and Kíli both glanced toward their uncle at the same time, but he pretended not to notice them and found the small stone he pushed around with his boot toe to be more fascinating. They took that whatever way they wanted to, and Kíli replied. “What do you know of the Arkenstone?”

She shook her head. That name struck a chord somewhere in her head, but she could not place the term.

“It’s a physical stone,” Fíli continued, “but more so it’s a symbol of the line of Durin. It’s our birthright, the thing that grants us our place on the throne. Without it, we are no more than just another dwarf colony. It was what we sent Bilbo into Erebor after; we never had any intentions of taking on Smaug without an army behind us, but that was how it happened. Well, Bilbo took it.”

At Cori’s lifted eyebrows, Dwalin held up a hand. “Like I said, he had good intentions. Just…not a well thought-out plan. A long series of events led up to that and followed, rather boring and dreary for campfire talk. The point is, Bilbo wasn’t afraid to put his neck on the line for our sakes, and we couldn’t be more grateful for his part in the quest. Truly wasn’t anything any of us expected from the hobbit we first met, but we’re all proud to call him one of our own.”

Cori looked to Thorin again, hoping for another confirmation as he was the only other of his Company in this group that had not actively participated in this conversation. His eyes were still cast to the ground, and his body was rigid where he sat against the large rock he had claimed. Odd. But he had not tried to deny any of what was said.

“He definitely changed our outlook on hobbits,” Fíli admitted. “And now knowing you, I feel horrible for anything negative I’ve ever thought of your race. There’s nothing but good in you.”

She scoffed, trying not to let the stab of pain in her chest show. “Spend some time around a town of them, and your mind will change quickly. We may not be evil, but there’s no shortage of bad apples in this bushel.” While she would put her own family in that category, she would never shy away from applying that to herself as well.

Yet, was she so bad now to have to continuously endure a magnifying glass on her every move? None of these dwarves had thought twice about voicing their high opinions of Bilbo right in front of Thorin, which meant he shared or at least perpetuated that train of thought. The boys even mentioned that Bilbo and Thorin had parted friends once Erebor had been won entirely. Even after Bilbo had stolen the most precious and important item in the whole kingdom? Thorin still trusted him enough to think him honorable. So why was she so different? How had Bilbo achieved redemption, and yet nothing she had done so far called for a change of heart? Why did he not like her?

Then she stopped every thought that would have proceeded after that one. She had absolutely no reason to want his approval. He was stubborn as they come, stuck in his ways with little sign of getting out. What was the few weeks they had known each other compared to the time he and Bilbo spent together? She cut that thought off, too, since it essentially meant she had hope for the future. What future? They would separate in a couple weeks’ time, once they put the Misty Mountains to their tails, and that would be the end of it.

Would it be so bad to have a king think on her positively, though, even once all had been said and done?

“Are all hobbits good at singing, too?”

Cori jerked her head back toward the brothers, eyes narrowed on the older one. How long had she disappeared into her thoughts? “What?”

“He didn’t know we knew, but Bilbo sang a lot while we traveled. Usually, it was when he was doing something away from the group and he didn’t know any of us could hear him. A lot of his songs were interesting, and he had a really nice voice. I just wondered if music was important to hobbits.”

She nodded, grateful for the sudden change in subject to steer her mind back on track. “Oh, yeah. Never a good party without a good tune to dance to. Our voices have a unique texture, so whether or not they’d be agreeable to other races, I haven’t a clue. You’ll get the odd prodigious voice; the Brandybucks can pass a note pretty well. But overall, I haven’t heard a _bad_ singer yet.”

“So you can sing?”

Should have expected that. She walked right into it, too. “Well, I don’t really…um…”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Kíli tucked his legs beneath him, leaning forward. “Sing us something.”

Thing was, Bilbo’s strategy would have worked just fine for her; if she did not know they were listening, this would not be a problem. She had been told a few times that she had a nice voice, and while it hardly counted as dreadful, it certainly did not call for an audience. Rarely had one, as it only came out for Shadow. It was probably shy, too, retreating as soon as all eyes were on her. Plausible, as her mouth suddenly filled with sand. “I don’t think so, Kíli.”

“Come on, Cori,” Fíli encouraged. “Your speaking voice is pleasant. How bad could your singing voice be?”

A collective agreement washed over the group, putting the pressure on. She could say no, and that would be the end of it. But, she had not sung in a while. Sighing, she sat up a little straighter. “Fine.” She waited for the cheers to die down before taking a deep breath, settling her eyes on her hands. Many she could recall from her childhood, as hobbits favored lullabies to sing to their many children. But one had swirled around in her head for some time now.

 

_*A leaf drawn in the breeze_

_No trail or path to please_

_Caught in the rain_

_Starting again_

_Mountains calling “Come!”_

_The rivers answer “Run!”_

_But where it may roam_

_The leaf will turn ahome_

_Oh where the hills flow green_

_And the buds to grow are free_

_And where the birdsong teems_

_By the clear streams_

_Oh where the hills flow green_

_Beneath the shade of tree_

_From where the leaf did fly_

_When winds did blow awry_

As the tail of the note drifted into the silent air, she chanced a glance toward the faces surrounding her, and her throat tightened. Each one held a degree of awe and curiosity, some with a smile to offer. No one opted to cheer or applaud, fretful to break the peace in the mood she set. Instead, Ion cackled. “Well, lass, you’ve got a comely face and a sound just as fair.”

The other dwarves grunted in agreement, a few stray comments interspersed within the guttural chorus. Fíli, a wide beaming grin on his face that placed a sparkle in his eye, patted her on the shoulder. “See? I told you. And you’d thought you’d be no good.”

“Sounded like a lullaby,” Kíli commented, equally enthused. “Did your parents sing it to you when you were young?”

She fidgeted with her fingers. “Actually, I wrote it.”

Kíli choked on his water skin, pressing a hand to his chest. “You what?”

“You wrote that yourself?” Fíli asked, breathless.

She shrugged. “I have a lot of time on my hands. Time like this, sitting by a fire at night, you know.”

Dwalin barked a laugh. “I think you hobbits are a little more musical than you’re letting on. Why don’t we call for another one, eh, lads?”

Cori did it again, this time with a song she heard in a tavern (where she should not have been at the age she was at the time, a confession they were amused by), and it did not take long for them to start clapping along to it as if they had known it their whole lives. It had been a long time since she had had an audience to sing in front of, or to join in with her, and she felt lighter than she had in a good while. Then she told them about all the different songs from her childhood: tunes for weeding in the garden, or harvesting in the fields. And yes, the lullabies that had sent her to sleep each night. It scratched at scars that had long healed over, but they were fascinated and eager, and she felt a part of the company for the first time. Would she admit to deliberately prolonging it? Maybe on her deathbed.

“What about you?” she asked after a third song, when her voice had begun to scratch a bit. “Surely you don’t sing drinking songs to your children.”

Dwalin stroked a tuft of his beard. “Well…”

“No,” Thorin quickly interrupted. While he had not necessarily participated in the festivities of the night, he had watched from his rock with a smile and a more relaxed posture than usual. Mind still heavy with his mission, no doubt, but at least he had no intention of stopping their fun. “We don’t. There is one song that we have used for quite some time. Every dwarfling has been made to learn it. It is…not just a cradle song.”

Even before he was finished speaking, a soft hum began to float above their fire. It rumbled in that deep dwarven tone, but it did not incite bravery and strength nor flaunt hard victories of war, as Cori had heard much of in taverns. It was solemn and gentle, a soul-touching sound as the harmonies mixed perfectly.

Then Thorin began to sing, and Cori was struck dumb. His low voice was not of finely-tuned skill, but a natural simplicity that conveyed what it needed to. A story formed within the words of the song, one that sent him to another place and another time as his eyes settled onto the fire. Cori followed along, suddenly a witness to a record of their past. The story continued as the other dwarves joined in.

Peace. Peace and prosperity for the dwarves for some time, content with their lives spent making fine things for all to share. But the worm came, laying waste to the land and the mountain they so loved and everyone in it. Their faces fell long and sad, pulled by memories and sufferings that reentered their weary minds.

The mood shifted in a flash as every head turned to look up to their king. Words of hope, instead of those that carried sorrow, drifted through their song: the king has returned.

 

_Now we call over the mountains cold,_

_“Come back unto the caverns old!”_

_Here at the Gates the king awaits,_

_His hands are rich with gems and gold_

_The king has come unto his hall_

_Under the Mountain dark and tall_

_The Worm of Dread is slain and dead,_

_And ever so our foes shall fall!_

 

Thorin stared toward the ground at his feet, silently letting the song wash over him. Cori watched him, head tilting without her knowing as she studied the lines and shadows across his face. There was a weight on him that those who smiled brightly at their victorious king could not see. But he grinned nonetheless, taking comfort from the truth in the declaration. It only stretched so far, and when he caught the hobbit’s gaze, returning her inquisitive visage, she saw the deep emotions hidden behind his eyes. There were too many at once to make out, but none were any to be expected on such a celebrated individual. This was no ordinary dwarf. No, not at all.

The rejoicing of the fulfilled prophecy lasted until the end of the song, where the past transitioned into the present.

 

_With foes ahead, behind us dread,_

_Beneath the sky shall be our bed,_

_Until at last our toil has passed,_

_Our journey done, our errand sped._

_We must away! We must away!_

_We ride before the break of day!_

 

The humming drifted off with the cool breeze, leaving a silence that endured. No one moved or said a word as Cori sat within the spell she had been woven into. How could a story be so vivid, distinct, unsettling, and heartening, all at once?

“We do,” Thorin rumbled, finally breaking the still air. He looked at each face that turned to meet his, tilting his head back. “We do ride before the break of day, so first watch, take up the rock.”

The dwarves broke into a collective laugh, shifting from their spots to rise and settle their bedrolls for the night. The evening was over. Cori let them wander around her, boneless and frozen in her spot.

What had these people endured? While their exile and the tragedies that had befallen their race over countless centuries had not escaped her, the truth of it remained just beyond her comprehension this whole time. It was all in that one song. A proud people, beaten down time and time again with no explanation and no cause, only to dig themselves back out and continue as if nothing had happened. Dís’s frustration, their general negative intuition: everything made sense. Had she endured it all, or read about her family’s misfortunes in the meticulous documentation of the Shire hobbits, she would feel the need to justify her own spitefulness. Who was to say it would never happen again, and at the least expected time, as it would need to be for someone as prepared for the absolute worst as the dwarves? Suspicious indeed.

“Cori?”

She jerked, looking up a little red-faced at Fíli, who had not moved from his spot beside her. “That was…beautiful.”

He grinned. “Like Thorin said, we’ve grown up with it, so it’s hard to imagine what it would be like to hear it for the first time again. Your face was enough to make a good judgment.”

“Well, it definitely made for a good lullaby.” She covered her yawn with the back of her hand, wondering how long it had been since sunset.

“The best part is when it stops being that, and you finally realize what it’s about.” He tilted his head toward Thorin. “Should’ve seen his face when I told him I understood. It’s the first memory I have of him telling me how proud he was of me, the first good one after my father’s death. That’s when he started treating me like an heir. But he never failed to let me know that he still loved me.”

“I can tell he does.” Because of him, Fíli, Kíli, and the rest of their people had something to inherit. That was love greater than the biggest adversaries.         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *To the tune of "Song of the Sea" sung by Nolween Leroy; the lyrics are my own creation
> 
> "Twist the Knife" has ended, so I can put all my focus on this now. I enjoyed that story, but I'm glad to be back in Middle-earth with Cori fulltime. Things are coming along nicely. Make sure to alert me to any inconsistencies or confusing bits, if you catch anything. Thank you for the kudos and comments! <3


	8. Home Away From Everything

By mid-afternoon the following day, the troop arrived at the dwelling of Beorn the skinchanger, approaching through the forest from the south after parting from the Anduin. The clouds of the morning rolled back across the mountains, releasing the warm sun to shine down on the mounted company when the gaps of the tree canopies allowed. Wrapped up in furs against the bitter cold of deep winter, they eyed the snowy Misty Mountains in the distance with contempt, dreading the time they would need to step into them. Their spirits rose when they looked on the tiny haven nestled up against the wood, chatting of the warm fire and delicious sweets waiting for them.

“Apparently my ‘exemplary’ cooking isn’t satisfactory anymore,” Cori grumbled beneath her breath, earning a chuckle from her riding companion.

“They’ll be talking ‘bout it once we set out on the road again,” Ion assured her. “We dwarves don’t let such brilliant favors as that go without gratitude.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

The house sitting across the bleak, dry meadow seemed set apart from the rest of the world. Fresh and homely even in the middle of this harsh season, and made all the more esthetical by the white peaks beyond the clear valley. As inviting as its owner.

“If we weren’t running for our lives the first time we came here, we might’ve had the same expressions,” Fíli interrupted her gawking, nudging her in the other side with a smirk.

“If the scenery didn’t catch you by surprise,” Kíli cut in from behind them, “the size of everything inside would certainly put you out flat. Bigger even than places made for Men.”

The man himself had taken her by surprise when she first saw him. Thicker in muscle and brawn than a dwarf, and taller than any of the race of Men she had come across in her life, even the greatest warrior would falter when faced with the angry beast lying in wait. He could easily snap her in half with his eyebrow. And she had only seen him at his most even-tempered.

“A beast through-and-through,” Dwalin joined in. “Even when he’s not covered in fur.”

“You saw the bear?”

“Aye!” Fíli called with a chuckle. “Came right at us, all snarls, teeth, and claws. Never once apologized either. What’d you think we were running from?

“Take a wild guess.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Kíli sang, “so long as you don’t startle him. You and your stealthy hobbit feet may end up separated if you let them sneak around like you normally do. As would the rest of your limbs and internal organs.”

“Kíli.” Thorin’s reprimand was mixed with amusement. When the young hobbit and dwarf looked in his direction, he grinned back. “Do not scare her.”

“It’s a fair warning, to be frank,” Dwalin said. “He exaggerates, but Kíli’s got a point, lass. Just make sure he knows you’re around so he doesn’t step on ya.”

What could these dwarves have possibly done to incite such a reaction from an otherwise pleasant person? No need to fish for an answer to that one.

They drew upon the back of the house and the dormant gardens that lay there. A gathering of animals including a few rabbits, dogs, and goats roamed the grounds, sampling foods that had been specifically laid out for them. They startled when the troop approached, disappearing into the brush or making for the house in a split second. Upon closer inspection, Cori could see the flower beds that would be in bloom come spring, and off to the left, a beekeeping hive sat near the wood chopping stump. A like-minded friend of nature, eh? More than a guardian of the wilderness here, but a caretaker of it as well.

“Hail, Beorn!” Thorin called as he dismounted his pony, the words echoing across the yard. This caused the rest of the group to follow suit. He ambled up to the house, eyes fixed on the large doorway up a small set of stone stairs. They did not have to wait long for a response as out came Beorn. He was wrapped up in a woolen coat and pants, and the hair sweeping down his head and from his jaw seemed thicker as a result. His gaze swept across the company first in wariness and with his guard on full alert, then he relaxed with a somewhat pleasant smile on his brutal face.

“Oakenshield,” he pronounced slowly in the coarse manner of his usual voice, which could disillusion some that he was none too happy (favorable in some circumstances, undoubtedly). What was in his eye contrasted such a notion, however. He tilted his head toward the king in a courteous manner, and the gesture was returned. “What brings you back this way?”

“Business with our kin over the mountains,” Thorin explained. “Our crossing through Mirkwood has left us a bit weary, so we decided to take up your invitation for room and board for a night or two, if it’s no trouble.”

The much taller man eyed the group unreadably. His dark eyes found Cori, faintly scrunching them as he paused for a brief moment. “A bit of notice ahead of time would have been helpful.”

Thorin nodded, sheepish. “Yes, well, we left in a rush.” Beorn took a breath, looking oddly backed in a corner for someone who could just break through all walls regardless. “Very well. You may stay, as your quest seems to be urgent once again.”

“We will not impose. Just a roof is all we would ask of you.”

With the final word passed out, Cori set to removing her saddle from Shadow. She would need to groom him well while they stayed here, as his thick fur matted in some place and was caked with mud. His mane and tail were too long and tangled. He looked more like a beast of the wild than the tamest creature she had ever come across. As she worked the cinch apart, she could feel intense eyes on her. Before she could look up (way up) to respond do it, she was overtaken. “I see you have brought yet another halfling my way, dwarf.”

“My pursuits tend to attract them,” Thorin replied, pointing a smirk toward Cori as he fiddled with his own pony’s tack.

“Rude much, Master Beorn. What did I say about using that word in my presence?”

He grinned widely within the strands of hair jutting from his face. “It has been so long, _Miss Hobbit._ You will have to pardon my manners.”

“I don’t _have_ to do anything, but you’ve otherwise proven a cordial acquaintance to me, so you are in luck that you’ve caught me in a forgiving mood.”

He chuckled, touching a light finger to Shadow’s cheek. The pony flinched none. “I find myself curious as to how you fell in with this bunch.”

“You and me both.”

“Perhaps a talk over supper is in order.”

A chorus of agreements lifted from the group only at the mere mention of food, and Cori allowed that to be the answer.

Once their ponies were released and their belongings gathered together, they marched off toward the barn mentioned to be the dwarves’ shelter during the Quest for Erebor. As they walked, Cori felt a nudge on her shoulder. When she looked over, the king’s head was ducked next to hers. “You never mentioned personally knowing Beorn.”

She furrowed her brow. “What difference would it have made?”

“If there had been a misunderstanding between you two in the past, we could have been refused by more than just a stern eye.”

“So am I to tell you of everyone I’ve crossed paths with in my years on the road? Because frankly, Your Majesty, they are uncountable, and I’m not guaranteed to remember all the important ones.”

He rolled his eyes. “If you’ve traveled the distances you claim to, I’m sure many of the characters you’ve met were not worth sharing the space with you.”

Was that a compliment?

“However, I don’t see a problem with making mention of a mutual familiar, especially when it could affect the entire company. Just a suggestion, Miss Houndberry. Of course, as you told Beorn, you are not _required_ to do anything.”

Cori pressed her lips together as she watched him lengthen his stride by a margin. A master of speaking, he was. Certainly proficient at switching from nearly polite conversation to a mocking tone in a matter of seconds. Enough to drive her up a wall, then make her feel her frustration was trivial. Was he aware that he was doing it? He had to be. Would there ever come a time that she could predict his moods and know how to combat them? Not in her lifetime.

So, as the sun descended the sky, the dwarves and lady hobbit gathered in what was a very familiar setting to four of them. Cori joined the soldiers in gaping in awe at the incredible home the beastly man had built for himself so very long ago. Simple, rustic carvings on his furniture and walls gave credence to an unexpected artistic nature. The barn attached to the house, making the two dwellings into one and putting the animals on the same plane as those within the house. The beasts that lived here were not treated as beasts. Why would any guest be treated poorly then? A rush of nostalgia came to the girl as she glanced around at the tall doors and generally high _everything_. Homely and safe: her former home and Beorn’s residence had those two things in common.

Then she found one more thing they shared: the food.

When Beorn requested his well-deserved explanation for their presence as they dined on toasted bread smeared with preserves and honey, Cori took up the mantel of storyteller. She recounted her fortunate run-in with the crown prince on his deathbed, skimming through the events leading up to their grand departure from the mountain and the rather boring journey they had experienced so far. Beorn took it all in with interest, smiling kindly to her as she talked. He seemed disturbed when she mentioned finding Enna hiding beneath the wagon of deceased dwarves, however.

“I’ve heard nothing of any happenings across the mountains, if truth be told,” he said, addressing Thorin. “Nor have I seen any evidence of orcs lurking about. If there is more I can do to help, I would gladly lend aid.”

“That is appreciated,” Thorin replied as he paced the floor, openly refusing to sit at the giant table with his chin nearly touching the top and his feet dangling from the bench. Cori solved that, pointedly staring at him as she crossed her now bare feet beneath her and curving her body away from it. He just tilted his head at her, playful peevishness in his narrowed eyes. “Right now, we are just as in the dark. Until we can cross the mountains and join our kin in Ered Luin, we have no idea what we’re stepping into.” Cori knew Thorin worried; watching him stare into the campfire at night as he stroked his cropped beard thoughtfully was difficult to ignore. Sometimes, she caught conversations between him and Dwalin where he expressed concern over whether or not they should have brought more soldiers or provisions in case of refugees. Dwalin had to remind him several times of her argument: Erebor barely teetered on its own feet at the moment and could spare nothing but gold coins, especially if there was a risk they could lose it all over the mountains.  But he feared inadequacy above all else: if he could do something, it damn well better be done. He lacked patience, but the fire was hot, and sometimes, that made up for it.

“You have come at a bad time of year,” Beorn rumbled. “The snows have fallen heavily to the west.”

“We could not wait until spring,” Thorin replied, another burden that had settled poorly across his shoulders. “We will make do.”

Beorn glanced at the hobbit briefly, but she saw it, and so did Thorin. Her spine straightened. That would be a battle not easily won; she knew her limitations would be questioned where the dwarves would mosey on just fine, and their steadfastness might drive her to drink where she normally curtailed. But she would fight because snow had not battered her down just yet.

After more lighthearted stories were passed around as dusk came and went, dinner finished and Beorn showed the company to the barn and the best places to bed down where no animal would disturb them. “Fantastic,” Kíli muttered as he surveyed the residents. “Such a wonderful place and we have to spend it sleeping in straw on the ground…again.”

Cori slapped him on the arm as she tossed out her bedroll. “Be nice. He doesn’t have to give us a roof over our heads, and yet he still is. Don’t think just because your mother isn’t here that you won’t get a whooping for being rude, prince or not.”

Despite their hushed whisper, Dwalin, who was close by, heard every word and burst out into loud laughter, drawing the attention of everyone else scouting out a place to settle. “Lass, we’re taking you back to Erebor after all this is over whether you want it or not. Those two troublemakers need someone to keep them in line, and you’ve obviously volunteered.”

She shot up so fast her back popped, a hand pressed to her chest. “And what have I done to earn such torment, Mister Dwalin? I thought you told me I had your favor.”

“Ah, we could make it worth your while,” he cackled with a wink that had obviously been put into practice many years ago and worked well for him.

“Hope you’re up for the challenge.” She pulled her blanket over her head, grinning into her sack pillow as the chuckling quieted down. She heard no grumbling afterward either.

Rest came easy to the troop that night as they relaxed in the safety of shelter. There were no guards on watch, and none were needed. With the soft straw a drastic contrast to the frozen ground outside, Cori drifted away from the aches in her muscles and the snores of her companions within minutes. Just as she thought blissful sleep had found her at last, however, she suddenly grew much too warm. Her thin blanket barely kept her from shivering at any other time, prompting her to scoot closer to one of the brothers to sneak some body heat off them. Certainly, in this drafty barn, they could not all create enough to rival a campfire. With an irritated sigh, she cracked her eyes open and lifted her cover away to toss it toward her legs.

“Ah!” She bolted onto her feet, pressing her back to the support beam rising next to her head. “Fire!” she shouted, wide eyes staring at the bright, hot, angry flames licking at the wooden structure. Someone left a candle burning. But how? Beorn had remained awake once they all laid down. He would have caught it. That mattered little now. She needed to get everyone out.

Except, there was no one in there with her.

All the places that the dwarves had claimed were empty. Not even a blanket remained. Where we they?

They would not have abandoned her here. No, certainly not. Not Fíli or Kíli or Ion. What was happening?

_No time. Need to get out._

Before she could take a step to head for the large double doors, however, the barn and all that was inside it dissolved away into ash. Nothing remained but a wall of fire, a scorching cage that stole her breath and refused to let go. Then, as if disturbed by a strong breeze, the flames parted. Behind them stood Buckland swallowed by the same destructive force. The crop barns burned, the flames reaching toward the sky in erratic tendrils. Smials poured smoke out of their open doorways, and the intricate gardens that would have once surrounded those comely homes were nothing more than blackened dirt.

Above the roar of the devastating monster sweeping through the town, the screams of those whose homes and fields were now razed echoed over the sweeping hills and off the trees. Back and forth in disorienting blurs, hobbits scrambled, fleeing the heat. No, they did not stop once the flames could no longer reach them. Something else stirred them into a frenzy, drawing horrified screams of terror from them. But no matter how many times Cori spun around in circles, she saw nothing.

She knew this spot. The road through Brandy Hall to Standelf. The road her young, much-too-big hobbit feet wore a trench in so many years ago. She was home. Her family had to be here somewhere. Now with a head spinning from panic, she took off down the road southward.

As she sprinted, she checked each horror-stricken face she passed, finding no familiarity in any of them. No friends or relatives. Just strangers who passed her by without so much as a second glance. Choking on the thick smoke, Cori finally halted before a larger smial, a lone knoll sitting before a barren field that would have once been tall with oats or colored dizzyingly with cabbages and strawberries. The old chipped paint on the door remained as it should have been. It was closed. Maybe no one was home. Or maybe they were. Coughing painfully into her fist, Cori ran up the slope, hopped over the singed wooden fence, and shoved through the heavy yellow door to her parents’ home, the house that had raised her.

“Papa!” she called, stopping just inside. She paused.

There was nothing. No fire, no destruction. Everything from the decorations on the walls to the many dozens of potted flowers strewn throughout the house sat exactly how they had been when she departed from her visit three years prior. Not a sound carried through the parlor to the kitchen to the back hall leading to the bedrooms of the six children that once roamed the house. The hole was dark. Her family was not there.

Following the flow of fresh air, Cori ventured further into the home. Her feet turned her into the parlor, stopping in the archway. Across the room, the small fireplace crackled softly, so tame and gentle compared to the inferno she had just left behind. It bathed the room in a comforting orange glow. Sitting before the hearth was a familiar sight: her mother’s rocking chair. The hobbit lady would always sit by the fire when she sewed or read from one of her many book collections. Her children knew exactly where to find her, and they all received comfort there when they needed it the most.

But the chair’s occupant was not her dark-haired, docile mother busy on her needlework. A hobbit did not sit there now.

_No._

It could not be. This could not be happening.

Terror in its rawest form filled her from her toes to her head, and she wanted to run. Her body did not move, paralyzed, trapped in the spot she had stopped. She opened her mouth to scream, but no noise came out. Then he turned, and a shout from outside the window caught her up just before their eyes could meet. A force like two hands gripping her shoulders yanked her back violently, and the room disappeared within the blink of an eye.

Cori shot up, her head nearly colliding with Fíli’s. A strangled cry startled her, and her raw throat told her she was the source. Her eyes darted in every direction, looking through the darkness for that face. But just like all the other nights she had been thrust out of her mind’s torture, it was not there. The screams of horror and the flames were never actually there.

But they had never been in the Shire before.

“You all right, lass?”

She searched for Dwalin at the behest of his voice. A lantern hung near, suspended from Fíli’s hand as he sat on her right side where he had laid down for sleep. Dwalin was on her left, Thorin kneeling at his feet where he had taken up a spot. Kíli looked on from his brother’s other side, and the rest of the company gave her the same look. They held no spite for the night’s interruption, nor a terrible amount of surprise. She was surrounded by warriors, all having faced battle at some point in their lives. They knew.

Taking in steady breaths, she dragged a hand over her face and nodded. “I’m fine now.” She had not had one so intense since the beginning of this venture. Why here, and now, in such a quintessentially safe place? “I’m good.”

“Well, if you need anything,” Dwalin began, rolling back over in his bed, “just give a shout. Certain we’ll here you with lungs like that.”

The tension broke, and the rest of the company turned away with a few lasting sympathetic looks toward her. She tried to ignore them, a hot wash of embarrassment spreading over her cheeks. It mattered little that they understood, that it was something they all probably dealt with regularly. She did _not_ want pity for her nightmares. But, if she had ever been good at predicting things, then they would not let his go easily. Definitely not with the way Thorin stared at her.

He had not said a word. Frankly, there was no need. He was curious and wary now; she knew what a seemingly innocent girl who was barely old enough to be traveling the world and woke screaming in the night looked like, and it hardly matched up to the picture she had painted for them. Maybe his continued suspicion of her had not been senseless after all. They barely knew a thing of her.

And yet, they continued to drag her along with them.

“We’re here, Cori,” Fíli whispered, dousing the lantern and settling back down with his back against hers. The hobbit just stared at Dwalin’s curtain of thick, greying hair and refused to look away; cursed she would be if she let sleep take her again tonight, no matter how many dwarves she had ready to take up arms against her imagination.

                    ******************************

She had predicted spending most of this trip grumpy as a groundhog with a flooded hole. Her predictions had been spot on.

By the time light had begun to fill the barn, she was dangerously close to giving in. No animal in the barn made a peep, keeping everything eerily quiet. This only occurred on cliff sides in the mountains where the forests did not whisper gently in the night, and those had been the most comfortable sleeps in Cori’s traveling life. Now, it was working against her, luring her heavy eyelids to close like the sweet song of a siren. 

The dwarves and their trumpeting did little to help. She had grown used to it a long time ago.

So she was left waiting, praying for daylight or the only other thing that would give her leave to stop pretending as if she were sleeping.

_Of course, the one morning he decides to sleep in._

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw what she had been waiting for. Thorin, taking in a long breath as he arose from slumber, rolled onto his back and stretched. The soft groan that left him spoke of a peaceful rest for the burdened leader and, obviously, a reluctance to leave it, and Cori watched him for a moment. His lips parted just a bit and his lashes dusted his cheeks a few times. A small ray of light from the windows drifted down onto him, highlighting the silver strands running from his temples and into the dark waves scattered across his makeshift pillow. He stared at the ceiling, a million things running through his head or nothing, who could tell? But then, he did not look like the bullheaded, laden king she had come to know, laying there with hardly a line on his face or a single bit of tension in his body. He had put himself into an artificial peace, and the look favored him.

His head turned to the side, the soft blues of his eyes catching hers just briefly before she realized she had been studying him like a painting in a museum. Finally, with the long-awaited cue, she tossed her blankets off and shuffled to her feet. _Don’t make it awkward,_ she told herself. She looked back down toward the dwarf who had not ceased his scrutinizing her. “Beorn gave me free roam of his pantry, since he said he’d be gone this morning,” she murmured quietly. “Anything in particular?”

He shook his head, pushing with his elbow to sit up. “Your judgment for their tastes has been keen so far. You know what you’re doing better than I.”

Funny. She felt the most out of control she had ever been. But she nodded and set off toward the kitchen.

Ion was up shortly after she began and helped her finish, and all the dwarves chatted amicably amongst themselves as they enjoyed the hard work of the two cooks. Much to Cori’s surprise and utter delight, no one mentioned anything from the night before. They thanked her for the food and went their separate ways, eager to make the most of the sedentary day. Only Fíli seemed to profess his concern, mostly through his expressive eyes. “Do you need help?” he asked as she set to cleaning the dishes with two other dwarves’ help. She obviously did not need it.

“That’s all right, Fíli. It won’t take long.” Anything to keep him from being too concerned for her.

Thankfully, Dwalin was very observant. He came up behind the blond prince and tossed an arm over his shoulders. “Come on, runt. Kíli’s been beggin’ for a sparring match, and you’re one of the few who can stand up to him. Now, come help me take ‘im down a notch.”

Cori waved them off, eyes following them until they were out the door, and pretended she had not noticed that Thorin was not around.

About halfway through her task, she realized idle work had been a horrible idea. As her hands rhythmically repeated the motions of cleaning the mugs, her mind wandered all of its own accord. She shut her eyes for a moment, hoping it would dash away the images creeping into focus.

All she saw were those hobbits frantically running for their lives, and how she was powerless to stop their invisible attackers. And standing there, in that parlor, looking across the room at the embodiment of a nightmare itself, she knew that she had no idea what she would have done had that been reality. She _could_ do nothing. And that was the root of the problem.

Almost nightly, the imprints of grotesque, disfigured fingers wrapped around her throat and squeezed. It had no part in her night terrors, but she could _feel_ them. She looked down upon the dwarves with their swords and axes brandished, and she had been reduced to silently begging for them to save her while she flailed like a fish on a line. She had been so close to the end of her life there, and she could not protect herself. How would she ever take care of those she loved?

_You know how._

As soon as the dishes were finished and put away, Cori grabbed her quiver and bow and sprinted outside and into the garden. This idea had twirled around in her head for the better part of two weeks now, and so far, the courage to bring it up eluded her. There was no better time than now.

Just as they said they would, the dwarves set up a sparring ring in the middle of Beorn’s garden, bordered by a few onlookers keen for a dual. Cori, marching brazenly on her mission with a mind to let no one stop her, faltered as she approached the pair now in the circle. Dwalin was there, and if she had not seen the dark-haired, scrawny dwarf trotting around him, she would have been convinced he was locked in battle with an orc. The ferocity on his face was no different to what she had seen of him during the skirmish that night. All his concentration was on his opponent, no matter if he could easily subdue Kíli with a firm grip by the scruff of the neck. His eyes sparkled with delightful fire.

Cori stood next to one of the guards, eyes trained on the potential squashing about to happen.

Kíli had no fear, however. He smiled, too, face alight with exuberance. Cori assumed, judging by their close relationship, that Dwalin had seen to the princes’ weapons training alongside their uncle when they were dwarflings. This was not one of only a few times the young dwarf had faced down the daunting warrior. He knew exactly what to do to match him, even with a clear strength disadvantage. What a relevant lesson to learn. Cori watched closely.

The younger dwarf shuffled around the edge of the circle, sword balance between two hands. Dwalin watched him, nonchalant but poised to respond when the impending strike came. He chuckled. “You just goin’ to dance ‘round me all day, lad? You’re the one wearin’ yourself out.”

“So you think.” Kíli lunged forward with impressive speed. His aim was low, seeking out Dwalin’s thigh. However, without so much as a change in posture, Dwalin blocked the attack and tossed it aside. He chuckled, watching the boy’s bravado falter with a sinister smirk. Kíli tried again, this time feinting to the left then thrusting toward the side of the ribcage, right where a break in armor would be. Dwalin ducked, sticking his foot out as the strike followed through. Kíli caught himself before he went down, but the concentration toward not landing on his face took away his focus on his opponent. Dwalin locked an arm around his neck, settling Kíli’s chin in the crook of his elbow. With his free hand, he twisted the sword from his hand and held fast until Kíli stopped struggling, a pronounced pout pulling his face down.

“Yes, I do think,” Dwalin answered. “You, lad, may need instruction on it.”

Fíli was almost in tears where he sat on a tree stump, leaning back until he nearly rolled off. The rest of the company had only the concern of being caught laughing at their prince to keep their frolics under control.

With a swift boot to his backside, Dwalin pushed the boy away, sending him stumbling. “That was sloppy. Thought I taught ya better than to leave yourself so open. Your slacking days are over. Drills four days a week. To all of ya. Starting today.”

And just like that, the glee slumped into a pit of miffed groans. But Dwalin’s word was law when he took command of his troops, and folly on anyone who dismissed a blatant command when he gave it. So the present dwarves paired off, taking out their weapons and dissolving into the rhythmic ringing of steel.

“You meant _everyone,_ right?” Cori asked as Dwalin stepped off to the side studying his sword.

He acknowledged her with a glance and smirk, reaching for the waterskin resting on the steps leading into the house. “I suppose it would be to _everyone’s_ benefit,” he murmured around the lip of the skin. With a playful eye, he scrutinized her from head to toe. “It ain’t somethin’ ya have to worry about, lass. We’ve got your back in a tight spot.”

“So you didn’t with the orcs?”

He paused with pursed lips. Letting out a heavy sigh, he nodded. “All right. I hear ya. I suppose it would do better knowin’ you can take care of yourself wherever the road takes you. I’m goin’ to chalk it up to pure luck that you’ve made it this far.”

“I mean, Bilbo survived, didn’t he?” she asked, her heart beginning to pump wildly in her chest as she drew her sword from her quiver and tossed the rest of it to the side.

“Someone up in the clouds _really_ wanted that lad alive.”

While pretending as if they were still entirely focused on their work, the other dwarves gave a curious eye to the hobbit who now stood before the tallest dwarf in the garden with her small broadsword between her hands. None of them had ever seen her use it before; naturally, they were amused as much as they were intrigued. Cori felt the same, until she watched him draw out his own weapon and test the weight in his hand as if he had never used it before. Then she realized what she had just asked for, and with entirely incorrect timing. She flexed her fingers— _this’ll probably be the last time I feel them_ —and set her feet in the stance she had learned from the brief instruction given to her by the dwarf who made her sword.

“What do ya know?” Dwalin asked, analyzing her posture with an indifferent expression that told her nothing of whether she was doing it right or not.

“Defense. Blocking and deflecting mostly. Just enough so I could get away if I ever—ah!” She jumped off to the side when his sword slashed right in front of her neck, nearly losing her grip on her. “Hey, now! Not necessary!”

“Your reflexes are good,” he commented, returning to the almost bored position he had been in earlier. “You’ve got light feet, as I’ve heard hobbits naturally do no matter if they’ve ever had need of them. That’s your first defense, and I suggest ya always make good use of it. Orcs are rarely alone, and that tiny frame o’ yours ain’t gonna hold up long. Ya don’t want to get caught in the middle of a pack by yourself.”

_And the sky is blue._ “Thank you for the grandest enlightenment of the century, Mister Dwalin. Now how about we skip the beginner’s tutorial, yeah?”

He shook his head. “Can’t train ya if I don’t know where to start. If I go at ya like a dwarf, you’ll be flat on your back before you can blink. Ya ain’t delicate, lass, but ya don’t have the muscle yet.”

“You hold it surprisingly well, for one so small.” Fíli leaned against a tree as he gestured to her sword. Both brothers had abandoned their match to watch. “A skilled craftsman that was to have made something so light.”

“If Bilbo had a letter opener,” Kíli chuckled, “then I believe you’ve found yourself a glorified butter knife.”

Cori stuck a fist to her hip. “I handle it just fine, thank you very much. And your kin in Ered Luin shaped this up for me in payment for a bale of beavers. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was someone living in your mountain right now.” One by one, the others began to follow suit with their princes, and the extra eyes made her nervous.

“‘Handling’ it won’t save your life,” Dwalin smirked. “Be sure ya know what you’re doin’. If ya want to learn to use that properly, you have to be prepared for what that entails. You may not have the option to run.”

“Exactly. I’m prepared to do what’s necessary.”

He nodded, satisfied. “All right, then.”

By the time they ran through the basics, midday had come and gone. Cori shed her coat when the sweat began to pour, shivering in the cold but deciding that warmth was good motivation to keep moving. Throughout it all, she had to question when the time was that she last felt like death had come for her, because she was getting close. Muscles she had never knew she had shook and ached, protesting the torture and begging for relief. But the dwarf had no sense of mercy, even when she almost stumbled into a tree after her head spun, and honestly, she had found none for herself. She had no plans to back down until Dwalin finished pummeling her with all the intention of putting her in the ground. And he looked to be having the time of his life, genuinely pleased when she managed to do something correct and chuckling in amusement when she failed. Of course, he was kept in a constant state of the latter.

“Is that really necessary?” she panted, staring down Dwalin’s sword nestled beneath her chin.

“Put enough nicks into ya and you’ll start to take counterstriking seriously,” he teased, retracting his blade with unnerving swiftness.

“Yes, because my blunders have been for lack of trying.” She stuck her blade into the ground and leant against it, fighting the ache in her chest from heaving the frigid air.

“You are trying.” Startling her out of her moment of concentration, she jerked up to see Thorin enter the circle. He had not made an appearance once, and no one had gone to seek him. It appeared he had been watching all along. He stood next to Dwalin, studying her in a similar fashion as the bald dwarf had done at the start. “But the true test of your strength is when you feel you have none left. Show us that you’re worthy to wield dwarven steel, Miss Houndberry.”

She just gaped at him, wondering how dwarves could make metal holy only by touching it. Then she wondered how someone could so easily compliment and insult in the same breath and decided to focus on the insult part because her hot blood told her not to ignore it. So she spread her arms out and bowed. “By your lead, my king.”

Dwalin barked a laugh around his canteen, but Thorin just looked surprised. He thought she was not serious. Yavanna, she would _never_ be serious competition for him. But he asked, and she was going to deliver whether or not she actually stood a chance at coming out of this lunacy on the other side. Shaking his head, he reached over his shoulder toward the hilt sticking up above his head: Orcrist. “As you wish, my lady.” The removal of the sword from its sheath was loud and piercing, and when it gleamed in the sunlight, Cori felt the first twinges of indecisiveness. He hardly missed anything, and certainly not the flash of hesitation on her face. “It has that effect.”

Was he referring to the sword or himself?

With a childlike eagerness, she struck low, aiming for his knees. Of course, he caught her effortlessly, brushing her sword to the side and taking a step to thrust in the same movement. She, however, bounced away with all the litheness gifted to Yavanna’s children, spinning on her furry feet and coming to rest with an arm curled around her back and her sword brandished, chin tilted upward with it.

Thorin laughed genuinely. “Cute. But I doubt orcs would be impressed.”

“Is that saying you are?” She quirked a brow.

He grinned. “Slow down, lass. You’ve only just begun.”

“Have I?” She rushed toward his non-dominant side and slit a cut into his cloak. While the rest of the audience cheered, she felt her stomach lodge in her throat. _Hadn’t meant to do that._ Too late now. Thorin studied the rip for a moment, mouth agape, before settling a blazing glare on her.

“If you want to play that way, then by all means.” With a swift twirl, he sliced the air in front of her, giving her a terrifying moment to feel its breeze. Twisting his wrist, he hurled it back the opposite way, closer, and she had a split second to block before he ripped her clothes, and possibly her midsection, in two. She stumbled back against the force on her exhausted arm, large, shocked eyes staring him down. That had been _much_ too close. Was taking a risk like that really part of practice? Peeved, she bore her teeth and charged. Feinting right, she pulled her sword along with her as she bounded back to the left, dragging it up to meet his as he brought Orcrist down hard. The impact bent her sword downward, yanking her wrist back painfully. With a cry, she released her weapon and dove away with a roll, coming to rest on one knee while cradling her injury. She glared in disbelief.

“Now who’s the one playing dirty?”

He shrugged. “That was as fair a strike as I would give any opponent.”

“And since when are green fighters ‘any opponents?’”

He sheathed his sword. “You obviously don’t consider yourself so green if you thought it wise to challenge me after hours of drills.”

“Oh, _I’m_ cocky?” She tried to stand, but her legs refused to take her weight. They gave, sending her flopping onto the ground in defeat. Her head swirled, her wrist throbbed, and the rest of her body was numb. She realized then that she may not be able to get up, and that made her angrier. She was exhausted and wounded beyond the physical. Maybe it was her fault. She had goaded a dwarf sporting about 150 years of experience with a sword and expected what to happen exactly?

The crowd disbanded, and Dwalin had taken the initiative to send everyone on their way. All the movement barely registered. What did, however, was the large body that kneeled beside her and reached for her wrist. She jerked it away, sneering at the audacity of this man to think he had any latitude to touch her. But his hand was swift and gentle, though any amount of force could have overcome her. The other one, gloveless, danced over the skin of her inner arm, the action speaking the word that would not come (though it would not kill him to say it, would it?). Finally, he spoke. “The best lessons are the ones learned through experience. I never meant to hurt you, but now you know your limitations, and it will help you in developing your skills further. Rest for the evening. You’re in for a rough day tomorrow.”

She rolled her eyes, finding his by accident but not dropping the look. “Thanks for the warning.”

He smiled, patted her shoulder, then stood. Without a word to anyone else, he walked away.

“The least he could’ve done was help you up,” Fíli mumbled in her ear as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to her feet. Her legs wobbled, but they held when she leaned into his side. Kíli stood nearby, waiting to step in if he needed to.

“That’s some gut of steel ya got there, lass.” Dwalin knelt to pick up her sword, clearly offering to carry it. “Ya got off easy. These two boneheads weren’t so lucky when he dished out their lessons all those years ago. He likes ya.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, hardly hearing the boys’ bickering over who earned the hardest whooping through the fog of fatigue. “I’m sure he does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was fun. What'd you think? :)
> 
> <3


	9. Soul Exchange

Cori was snuffed like a candle before dark fell. Thorin had been correct, of course; the deep ache and stiffness in her muscles settled into what seemed like every part of her body by the time dinner was made. Beorn, who returned shortly after training ended, questioned her winces every time she moved, but she brushed him off with a smile. Once her belly was soothed at least, she found the thickest pile of hay in the barn and curled up, fighting the urge to groan for her throbbing limbs. All the noises in the house faded away into blissful repose the moment her head found her rolled-up blanket.

It came as no surprise that she awoke sometime in the night. She dared not move; the pain of her self-inflicted abuse waited only for the slightest twitch to strike her with unimaginable force. So, with no idea what time it was, she just closed her eyes again and listened to the usual thundering sounds of her companions around her.

One noise overpowered the rest, and Cori jerked to attention. The moan was distressed, choked and ragged. A faint rustling struck through the quiet of the night as he suddenly thrashed, his breathing intensifying. He uttered a Khuzdul oath she found familiar but could not translate. The king seemed to be fighting a silent predator within his subconscious, and judging by his growling shifting into what could only be described as whimpers, he was losing.

Cori sat frozen, wondering what she could do. It would be cruel to let him suffer in the betrayal of his own mind, and the dwarves had seen to grant her mercy the night before when she involuntarily voiced the fright of the images she saw. Shutting out the noises and pretending to be oblivious was not an option. But Thorin was a warrior. After many years of fighting battles, he saw war, enemies, and possibly loved ones taking their final breath, and each haunted his sleep like a possessive ghost. Someone deep in the throes of warrior’s curse would see their imaginary opponent in whoever attempted to wake them. She was not ready to face down the potency of Thorin Oakenshield just yet, not while the ailment of her last encounter still clung to her body.

Her pondering, however, remained brief. All sounds of struggle ceased abruptly, and for a moment, the night fell silent. Then a deep sigh broke the pause. She listened as he rose from his bedroll, maneuvering his way through the bodies scattered across the barn floor with loud, careless steps. They disappeared out the door leading to the garden.

Cori did something she had not expected to do, but felt it was necessary, and that excuse certainly came from somewhere other than her own head because she was still in a sour mood concerning the affable dwarf. Despite the harsh protest from her body, she dragged herself out of her warm cocoon and started for the open doorway. The stiffness in her legs made sneaking difficult, but then again, if Thorin had trundled through without causing a stir, her bare feet would have no more impact than a mouse’s skittering. She followed the stream of smoke wafting in and the familiar scent of pipeweed.

Once outside the barn, she shuffled her steps, though he was probably alert enough now to sense her approach. He rested with his back against the side of the dwelling, one hand laid across his bent knees and the other holding his pipe to his lips. A tired stare faced toward the distant mountains. A lazy three-strand twist held his hair behind his shoulders, messy with the occasional stray. Wordlessly, she sat down beside him, crossing her legs and tucking her feet close to her body. A blanket would have been a smart idea, but even with a few inches between them, he was as sufficient as any campfire.

The only sound for several minutes was a nearby creek still trickling on through the frigid winter. But Cori found a bit of a shock in the stillness: it was quite comfortable. As if she could just get up and leave right then, and nothing would be said for it. For a moment, she planned on doing just that, once she let a little more time pass. That, however, was thwarted. “You dreamed again,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Not why I got up. I’m not used to bedding down so early, even when I’m traveling alone. It’ll take me a bit to get tired again.”

He blew out a long drag. “You still dreamed. You made noise right after everyone settled in. Mumbling and twitching. No one did anything since you stopped shortly. I’ve noticed you do it often. Fíli told us to look for it after that first night.”

She had no idea whether or not every dream she had made her thrash around, but she ended up in an entirely new position than when she went to sleep frequently, even by herself. And trust Fíli to keep secret that little incident from the night they rode back to Erebor together. Of course that was a lost cause. “Nightmares tend to have that effect. You should know. It was you that woke me, after all.”

He deflected expertly. “What do you see?”

She lifted her nose up; the last thing she wanted to do was make it about her. “I’ll say, so long as you do the same.”

Predictably, he remained silent. It was a dirty trick, but what went on in her mind was her own dealings and he had little claim to them, if at all. He hardly seemed bothered by her ploy, as he next offered her his pipe. She smoked little, hardly able to regularly afford anything that actually tasted good, but it was a peace offering. Sharing one’s pipe was a courtesy not offered to those who were unwanted, after all. So she accepted. As she tested it, she studied the thick square holding the smoldering leaves, tracing her thumb over the designs carved into it. The plant was unfamiliar, but it was good. She handed it back with a tiny cough, playfully bumping her knee to his when he grinned.

“Who is Teagan?”

Well, there went the illusion in which she pretended he had not born witness to her calling out to someone that was not there. “My nephew, courtesy of my oldest sister Margow. A wee runt, though he’s got a heart of gold, and a head of it, too. That’s from his da. My family’s all mud mops.” She touched her dark hair, absently twirling a curl around her finger.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Besides in Mirkwood? Three years it’s been since I stepped a foot into Buckland. He was five then. Should be eight now, but I doubt he looks it. He inherited his pa’s baby face, too.”

Thorin grinned. “He is special, isn’t he?”

“I was actually visiting home when he was born. Never held a babe before, and I was scared to death. But he was so quiet once they got him calmed down. Then he just stared into my soul with those huge brown eyes, and I was gone. I’d take a blade for him, you know?”

He hummed. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

When he chose to take a break from strutting around like he commanded a throne room, he had actually been somewhat affectionate to his nephews. A spare smile or a swift, one-armed hug every now and then, and it left them beaming afterward. Anytime he let either of them take command of the company for a day, he would watch them with pride sparkling brightly in his eyes. Had she not already known their relation, as a stranger, she would have easily guessed they were his own. Clearly, in his mind, that was the way it was.

“You are not the first to see a relative in those cursed trees,” he assured her gently. “It seems to be their favorite trick.”

She scoffed. “I know. I _knew,_ which begs the question of why I let it deceive me.”

He paused, gaze cast to the ground. “Madness, no matter its origin or longevity, can strike even the most steadfast and impenetrable minds. It is no surprise you succumbed to what few have overpowered.”

“Helpful, Your Majesty. Exceedingly.”

His lips curled contritely. “I meant no offense.”

“I suppose you meant there is no dishonor in something you can’t control.”

Withdrawn, his voice came quietly. “Aye.” He had a peculiar, far-off look when he spoke, though. Specters haunted his dreams and his waking hours, apparently. What they were, she dared not ask, for fear of having her own questioned. And judging by how they suddenly shrank his imposing presence, he would be none too happy about being pressure for it anyway. Best just to leave it be before she lost a head.

“Guess you’re right,” she said, groaning as she shifted on the cold, solid ground.

He gave her a contemplative look before changing the subject entirely. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was dragged behind Shadow for miles. That happened once, right after I first bought him. He’s a bit headstrong, if you haven’t noticed.”

“I have. And your wrist?”

She flexed it, suppressing the urge to wince. “Nothing a few days won’t mend swiftly.”

“I…” He took a breath, fingers playing absently on his pipe. “I must apologize.”

“If I didn’t expect to get a little roughed up every now and then, I’d be back home sitting by a fire with a book in my hand. I get it. The only way I’m going to get better is if I’m pushed.”

“But you are not a dwarf, Cori. I should have kept my wits instead of falling into the rhythm as I would with Fíli or Kíli. I would never intentionally cause pain to enforce a lesson. I don’t recommend training yourself boneless while we’re on the road either. That will only leave you vulnerable, and entirely defeat the purpose of teaching you to fight. Take care of yourself.”

She nodded, a little bereft of words by his open confession.

“And,” he continued anyway, “while I’m bearing my shames, I feel I should ask forgiveness for my treatment of you in Rivendell.”

Now that knocked her for a stupor. She had anticipated him bringing that up again, but only in affirmation of her silence for whatever the next accidental eavesdropping was about.

“To grab you like that…Mahal, the lashing I would’ve received from Dís had she learned of my treating a woman in such a way. And only for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing of what I did was becoming of any dwarf, let alone one who should set himself as an example for his people. My nerves around the elves got the better of me, and you were caught in the middle of it.”

She fished for the right words for several seconds because any tactfulness she had left was thrown to the wind. She wanted to be wary. For nearly half her life, she could survive no other way but to expect the worst from everyone. And a dwarf no less. She had been duped before, made to feel comfortable but, after speaking just one word that sparked suspicion, she was tossed out with a threatening growl. Thorin was in that group, deliberately deceiving her for his benefit at one point. Could she rely on his word?

But there was no lie in him now. He looked her straight in the eye and pronounced his guilt which seemed to have festered long enough for the pressure to be unbearable; he had not as of yet been so open with his thoughts. He waited calmly for her response, but his hands still fidgeted with each other. A small voice told her it was a farce, luring her into security once again. But another inkling came louder: she _wanted_ to trust that he was earnest now. How ridiculously dim of her to walk right into a trap while choosing to see the best in someone for once. Yet, he had not been truly nasty to her. Maybe her foolish hopes had some ground.

Lifting her face toward his, she smiled. “Thank you. You’re forgiven.”

He took a breath that filled his chest so freely, she realized how obstructed it had just been. A stillness even more comfortable than before they began speaking settled over them as gingerly as the moonlight. Off in the western sky, however, clouds were forming low and thick. The good weather would not last long.

“We began this journey with locked horns.” Thorin spoke quietly, a smoothness to his voice barely disturbing the air. “I misjudged you harshly, so I will take the blame for that. I wish to part ways on cordial terms when the time comes.”

That sounded…nice. “We can do that.”

For the remainder of the hour they sat there listening to the sounds of the night, a small grin graced his stoic face. It softened his features and gave him back a spot of youthfulness. And did Cori mind looking at it? Well, it was a decent replacement for the mountains she could not see.

          *****************************

As usual, Cori failed to realize when her thoughts drifted to places uncomplacent with the present. Shadow, as a vigilant and free-thinking animal, had no problem letting her know of her folly. One placid moment out behind Beorn’s house, she had the pony quietly trotting around her on the end of a line as part of a little training session. The next, however, she had a face full of dirt and rope burns on her hands. She slid onto her knees, glaring at the grey now standing quietly a few feet away from her. “Now what’d you do that for?”

He just blinked at her, dark eyes contemplating her quietly.

She sighed, pulling herself up with a groan and dusting her sullied front. “You can use your inside voice, you know? A subtle nudge? You don’t have to listen to that wild itch of yours.”

A quiet chuckle vibrated the garden like a distant rumble of thunder, and after a startling moment whereby she convinced herself it was the damn pony, Cori glanced toward the house to vent her frustration at whoever dared to mock her. Of course, it was a little difficult to come across as intimidating when the offender happened to be three times her height and ten her mass. Beorn regarded her with the barest hint of a smile within his bushy beard. “Do you seek an answer, Miss Houndberry? I do not think your displeasure has reached him.”

“Then I’ll make sure it does.” She marched toward the pony, grabbing the line from where it trailed across the ground. “You’re in for another half hour of work, mister. Don’t think you’re going to get away with that just because I’m not directly telling you what to do.” He nuzzled her chest, and instantaneously, she lost any ire she may have developed. He just had one of those faces.

“You have a brilliant animal there.”

Beorn seemed the typed to appreciate a fine pony, considering his were some of the most beautiful she had ever come across. And she had seen the elves’. “My parents are farmers. That calls for all kinds of beasts of burden to plow and pull carts from the fields to market. We had two ponies where I grew up in Buckland, Rosebud and Thicket. I taught myself to ride on Thicket, our little buckskin. I’m certain Da knew I was doing it, but Ma would have had a fit if she knew, so I don’t think she ever found out. When I set out on my own, I had Dunner, a bay with a slight limp. He carried me across Middle-earth for several years until I knew it was time to retire him, the old boy, so I made sure he had a good home upon my last visit to the Shire three years ago. I found Shadow in Bree the next month. He was a pack animal for a while, I heard, and still young, so I figured he’d make a hardy trail pony I could count on for a while. The greatest and cleverest beast I’ve ever come to know. A lovely friend when the wilderness gets lonely.”

“He is fortunate to have fallen in your hands rather than a more ghastly fate.”

“Not entirely how I’d put it. I’ve ridden him over rough terrain at a much too fast pace to be safe. He’s gone without eating much for several days in the winter. I’ve barely kept him alive.” She leaned into Shadow’s neck, suddenly terrified at the thought of never having him around.

“But you have given him affection, and in turn, he has gifted you with his trust and service. You have an exceptional bond with him, and I need only look at the way he heeds your commands to know that. I am certain he is extremely grateful for the treatment you have and have not given him.”

“Clearly.” She reached down to rub the soreness from her knee, wincing at the general pain in her body.

“What is on your mind, little one,” he asked as he sat on a stump, “that has you losing control of your faithful pony?”

“Dwarves. What else?” Of course, the only thing she had been able to focus on ever since waking up that morning was the startling admission of Thorin’s by the light of the moon. While the talk itself was a baffling thing, it opened up a whole new jumble of questions she had very little time to answer. “Everything I ever concluded about them has been turned on its head. I’m trying to figure out what to do about it.”

“They have care for you,” he said gently.

“Well, they are under contract to see me safely to my next destination, so I suppose you could say that.”

“Dwarves are a fickle ilk,” he said, glancing back toward the house as if gesturing to them because he certainly was not afraid of them listening in. “But they have their reasons, even if those are known only to them. I am sure it is to their benefit that you are around.”

“To settle a debt they like bringing up regularly.” She sighed. “Yes, I suppose they have been kind beyond common courtesy.”

His eyebrows rose slightly. “Indeed? Where have you been that a gentle creature such as yourself could admit ‘kindness’ of that degree in dwarves?”

She grinned. So that was why they had been so cautious before the company arrived here. Certainly returning to someplace they were not previously welcome to start with would bring up some wariness. “Everywhere, good sir. Wherever the road sweeps me is where my path has led. Not exactly a current I can fight.”

“Yes, but you first had to step in it.”

She had about as much control in that, but she would not belittle him his curiosity. He had refrained from stealing into her personal business the last couple of times he had seen her. “A long, sad tale, that one. Not worth listening to, I assure you. Just know that I’ve never willingly looked for trouble. I am merely wandering where others of my kind believe I shouldn’t. And as you might imagine, it’s hard to garner respect from any other people when I’m the size of their children.”

“That explains how you came to be with the dwarves.”

She rolled her eyes. “I still get a crick in my neck talking to most of them. And no, not just because of the height. Still, these dwarves have shown me the respect others have lacked. And acquaintanceship I haven’t known in a long time.”

He chuckled. “You care for them in return.”

“Easy now. ‘Care’ is a bit presumptuous.” Or was it? “Thank you for allowing us to stay here, if the dwarves haven’t expressed that specifically. It is winter, after all, and we’re partaking of your pantry.”

He shook his head, tracing a finger down Shadow’s nose. “I do not expect much from them in the way of words. Oakenshield is noble, though, so he has not neglected in any way. And you do not have to worry about me, little one. Just give heed to yourself.” He patted her shoulder with his large, warm hand, rose to stand, and walked off to tend to whatever business needed his attention now. Cori watched him for a moment, wondering how he managed to pull all that out of her. She had no intention of laying all that on him, and yet, once the offer was made, she found how easy it was to talk to him.

“More magic in that one than changing shape,” she murmured to Shadow, pulling him toward the pasture and allowing him out with the rest of the ponies. As she leaned against the fence, she realized that chat had awoken things that needed addressing.

Earlier, as she was preparing Shadow for his regular exercises, she found something she had paid little attention to since this journey began. Caught up in the whirlwind of everything that had happened since she stumbled across Fíli on that battlefield, she forgot about the tiny braid that Enna had woven into Shadow’s mane on their ride back to Erebor the day she found them. It was dirty and unkempt, sprigs of his coarse hair sticking out of it, but she could not find the heart to remove it. That little gesture now reminded her of the empty promise she made to the little girl right before she left the mountain and filled her with shame when she realized how content she had been to let it remain empty. That child was parentless; an orphan until proven otherwise, and a fate Cori had not been subjected to. Cori was one of few people who could make that change if it were possible, and she was prepared to throw away that opportunity.

The dwarves themselves had been dealt yet another vile blow in a long history of degradation. They would muddle on, no doubt, as they had for thousands of years, but the tragedy remained. The thought left Cori very unsettled.

Something Thorin said the night before vexed her in a way she never expected. He wanted friendship to be between them when they parted, but it was only by her terms that the time for that could be decided. The power rested in her hands, and she had not the first clue what to do with it. The decision was so simple only a moon earlier. Now, for the first time in many years, the call of the road was not strong enough.

Fortunately, the rest of the evening was spent in preparation for their departure the next day, so she had very little time to panic over the myriad of options. She was content to let come what may, which was decidedly _not_ procrastinating on an enormously important choice. Beorn refilled their stock with only a minor grumble at the amount, powerless to refuse pay when the dwarves offered reimbursement upon their return to Erebor.

“Trust me,” Cori said as the large man sat in his chair and stared at the dwarves grumpily after the small disagreement. “You can’t shake them on this. Just let them do their thing, and everyone involved will come out that much better.”

The company took full enjoyment of their last stay in civilization before crossing the unforgiving, winter-wrought Misty Mountains. Pipes smoked and songs filled the air as they partook in a small bite after supper. The relaxed atmosphere kept morale boosted high in the face of the unknown they would encounter in the West. They were certainly a rousing bunch when the fancy for a good time struck. Cori felt lighter than air as she listened to more of their bottomless tales of times gone by and watched them have their fun. As she lay down in her pile of straw, she drifted away from the world wondering what camp would be like when it was just her and Shadow again.

She awoke early the next morning drenched in sweat with silent tears streaming down her cheeks, hollow on the inside as the familiar images she saw in her sleep ravaged her composure. No one had awoken with her, still deep in their own peaceful rest, so she quickly wiped her face with a blanket and stared at the ceiling until the rising sun illuminated it. This could not continue for much longer.

She would like to play dumb and pretend she had no idea why the night terrors had intensified their assault, but she knew.

Everyone was hard-pressed to leave the home of the skinchanger, but their time there escaped them quickly. Cori grew addicted to the natural scenery and the security of staying within a tiny realm guarded by an undefeatable but kind beast; however, to ask him to continue to play host for much longer would be overstepping. She warned him of her plans to return for at least one more stay in such a hobbit’s paradise.

The great man chuckled, scratching Shadow behind the ear. “You are welcome any time, little one. I would appreciate the help tending to my plants.”

She promised him a swift return, warning him to expect her when the trees began to turn, though what year that would be was up in the air. He bid her safe travels in her future endeavors, and especially in her current one.

“May your quest be successful, king dwarf,” he offered. “For the sake of your kin.”

Thorin pressed a fist to his chest and gave a subtle bow of his head. “Many thanks, Master Beorn.”

Mounted with energized ponies and full sacks, the company of a dozen set out for the white-blanketed slopes of the mountains rising near in the distance. They chatted cheerfully as they ambled on, hardly deterred by the obstacle standing in their path or the gathering clouds above them. The foothills presented easy terrain on which they allowed the ponies to stretch their legs in a relaxed canter. Were it any warmer, Cori may have fallen asleep from the gentle rocking; drowsiness had been pulling on her eyelids since breakfast. Trusting Shadow to remain with his herd mates, she let her gaze drift over the land to distract herself from the strong urge to test if the last time she successfully slept in the saddle was a fluke. The valley they rode through was stark and dull; winter had taken a hard toll on the land the farther up they went. A grey shadow seemed to linger over the dry grasses and naked trees. It was disorienting and depressing at the same time. Winter was enchanting when all it meant was building snowmen and having snowball fights with her siblings. She hated it now. Cold, empty, and lonely. By the middle of Foremath every year, she began to pray for an early spring and rarely received the answer she wanted. Maybe this would be the year.

“You all right, Cori?”

Startled, she jerked her head to the side. Fíli had certainly been up toward the front of the line next to his uncle the last time she looked, yet he now rode beside her. His infectious grin was dowsed just a bit as he took in her face. And, as if it was not bad enough that he now looked at her quite worriedly, the other dwarves had noticed his inquiry and turned to give her several eyes to cringe beneath. “Just fine,” she recovered as quickly as she could, trying to suppress the yawn that had been tugging at her jaw for a couple of hours now.

A little less than convincing, obviously, as Fíli stared at her with all the intent of solving a riddle no one had yet been able to crack. If she told him there was none, he would dig deeper, drawing the rest of the group with him. The results would be an all-out interrogation. Worst case scenario. So she just sat a little straighter in the saddle and pointed her nose forward. Maybe they had grown smart by now.

She had a plan for that evening, and hopefully the next several evenings to follow. If she was careful, it would not be too difficult to pull off. Except, the blond prince had yet to take his eyes off her since that afternoon, and nothing she did could sneak passed this hawk.

Directly after the meal that night, the company settled down in their bedrolls. Before Thorin could dish out the watch schedule, Cori approached him. “I’ll take first watch tonight.”

He raised a brow. Of course, she had never once volunteered for watch. The moment she predicted he would investigate, she tilted her chin up. He nodded once. “Very well. Brur on second and Jol on third.”

And that would work out just fine.

“Cori.”

She stopped in her path with her eyes rolled to the sky, turning to face Fíli.

“You seemed unwell today. Wouldn’t it be wise to take advantage of a night off?”

“Fíli, please,” she replied as gingerly as possible. “Your concern is unnecessary. You caught me at a moment of distraction is all. Don’t worry so much about me, all right?”

He glanced toward his feet dejectedly. “You seemed lethargic.”

“Relaxed,” she corrected.

Just as she had given him credit for, he judiciously backed down. “Fine.” He bumped a knuckle beneath her chin. “But at the first sign of trouble, I _will_ worry, you got that? And you _will_ give me heed if I think it’s best for you. I have just as much power as Thorin.”

Probably untrue, but she was much too tired to fight him anymore now that she had achieved what she wanted. “As you wish.”

Two long hours after watching everyone drift off one by one, Cori had to find strength she never knew she possessed. But she would not be defeated by something so trivial as this. She would do anything to beat this adversary.

“Go back to sleep, Brur,” she whispered when the dwarf awoke for his shift, prying her eyes open as far as she could and giving him her brightest, fakest smile. “I’ve got this.”

If she was going to lose sleep, she might as well do it by her own choice. Nightmares had taken control of her life before. Not this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who read the previous version of the story, I've realized that I've started putting more emphasis on the journey to the West, if you haven't noticed. I hadn't meant to, but that's to my advantage since one of my goals in the rewrite was better character development.  
> For those who are new, I did a version of this story back in 2017 that was (oh, God) so bad. This is the improved version, and I'm already liking it so much better.  
> I'm not guaranteeing a thing here, but I'm going to try to upload once a week since the story has been coming to me better than it was a few weeks ago. And I don't want to wait that long in between uploads because I know how frustrating that can be. XD Expect it later in the week, like from Wednesday into the weekend. Let's see how long I can keep that up. ;D


	10. Misty Mountains Cold

The company had yet to taste the Valar’s dark sense of humor on their quest. Their evasion had lasted long enough, apparently.

The first day of their actual ascent into the Misty Mountains was as mild as this time of year could be. Overcast skies continued, shading the land drearily and summoning nightfall early. Most of the snow that had lain on the ground for some time even began to melt away, leaving only a small dusting beneath the sprigs of grass that crunched under the ponies’ hooves. The air changed, however, as soon as the company settled down to sleep. The temperature dropped dramatically, assisting Cori on first watch as she was stricken by powerful shivers that wracked her whole body. Kíli, awoken for his duty as second watch, refused to lay back down as she instructed and sat with her in his arms until she stilled. Together, they watched the first flakes fall.

It kept coming well into the morning, and by the afternoon, everything was white.

“How long do you think the ponies will last?” Thorin shouted to Cori above the raging wind whistling in their ears. He had taken to calling upon her opinion where the animals were concerned, acknowledging that her understanding of them ran deeper than the dwarves could and would cultivate for themselves.

The durable little beasts dug through the snow drifts that had risen to just below the knee, heads down in effort and ears flat against the wind. While flakes clung to their heavy coats, they had not begun to shiver yet. None of them had stumbled either. “We have until sunset,” she called back. “If it gets any higher, it may cause some problems.”

“It hopefully will stop sometime in the night.”

Wishful thinking that turned out to be, of course. While it stopped for a few hours after dusk, the storm returned with force outmatching its prior assault. Cori, on second watch after pretending to sleep through first, kept herself busy by brushing off the snow that had seeped through the branches on the tree they sheltered beneath and settled on a few of the dwarves. Then she tended to the ponies, blanketing each and keeping the accumulation from weighing them down as well. The work, along with the frigid wind, steered her mind away from thoughts of sleep. Once Thorin woke for third watch, he sent her to her bedroll with the promise that he would look after the ponies. She dozed until he woke everyone at dawn.

That routine had sustained Cori since leaving Beorn’s house. Awake for most of the night, she had no choice but to shut her eyes for the last few hours remaining; it certainly would do no good to have the dwarves see her collapse in the middle of the day. Third watch or Thorin always roused her before she could descend too deep. Now it was just a waiting game to see how long she could last like that. The alternative always gave her a pinch to maintain the discipline.

By the third day of snow, they were just shy of reaching the pinnacle point of the range and the downhill slope that would award them for their effort afterward. At noon, the flakes mixed with small pellets of ice, unmercifully beating them until any uncovered skin dripped crimson drops into the pristine snow. The company worked hard the first two days to keep their spirits up, knowing the storm could not last forever. Now, they were even grumpier than in Mirkwood.

“We should descend to find somewhere to camp,” Fíli suggested as soon as the light began to wane and a break in the snow came (though neither could be said of the wind). The group traversed the very edge of a cliff in a single-file line, their ponies hugging the walls with a wary eye cast into the tenebrous ravine below.

“We’ll just slip into a cave or beneath an outcropping up here,” Kíli countered once he moved his scarf away from his face. “Not as if there’s a shortage of them.”

Fíli turned in his saddle to glare at his brother. “If we stay up too high, we’ll freeze to death no matter if we get out of the wind. I’d like not to lose an ear or a finger just from sleeping.”

“We’ve brought extra wood. We’ll build a fire and huddle if we need to. There’s no need to add more time for ourselves.”

Their voices, though unnervingly loud against the cliff walls, barely reached Cori’s ears. If she could move any part of her body at all, she would never know. It sounded like effort she did not want to make. The cold had torn right through her furs, settling deep in her bones. Every little bump Shadow made in his path jolted through her like a direct strike, painful tingles clawing through her limbs. It was all she could focus on. Someone may have called her name at one point, but she chose to ignore it with half a mind that it never happened.

They finally decided to follow Fíli’s advice and ducked into a ravine just before the path became too dark. Of course, this settled poorly with the younger prince who took it as an act of favoritism when his uncle gave his brother the reins of the company. Once they had stashed the ponies behind a wall and settled in a crevice in the mountainside just big enough for them all to slip into, the two were at each other’s throats. It began as their usual affectionate sibling banter, but everyone could tell Kíli was irritated beneath the forced laugh. Then the shouting started, and almost instantaneously, they lunged.

Quicker than even they had been, Thorin literally threw his body between them and screamed a fierce, jagged Khuzdul word that echoed against the sides of the cave and vibrated through Cori’s sensitive frame. “ _Enough! Both of you!_ ” With his staggering height advantage, he shoved Fíli to the side and pressed Kíli to the wall with two hands against his shoulders. “I don’t need to remind you why now is _not_ the time to be having petty arguments.”

“You need to learn that not all of your ideas are good in practice, brother,” Fíli scolded. Kíli growled, failing to push through the force keeping him against the wall.

“I don’t care who started it!” Thorin stared a clear warning into the boy’s dark eyes, and Kíli slumped against his restraints. “Or what this is about. We have more important things to worry about than this rivalry that’s been festering between you two for months. I will _not_ have this.” He pushed away from the wall, pinning Kíli in place and keeping Fíli at bay with just a stare. “You will act as if you both are taking my throne tomorrow. Is that understood?”

Neither spoke a word, simmering in the silence that followed Thorin’s booming command. While they ignored the other, this was obviously not good enough for Thorin. He motioned for them to follow him out of the cave, and they obeyed with all the enthusiasm of someone going to the chopping block. When they disappeared around the corner, the company resumed setting up camp and digging into jerked meat for supper. Cori stared after them for a moment, looking away only when a warm weight settled over her shoulders. She involuntarily leaned into Dwalin’s side, seeking reprieve from the cold. “Kíli didn’t seem like he had an interest in the throne.”

The warrior sighed. “Fíli’s been spending a good bit o’ time with Thorin recently, learnin’ the ropes about runnin’ the kingdom and all that. It’s a rare event in their lives when one is jealous of the other, but I think every pair of siblings has the potential for envy. Those two just know that it’s not worth losin’ the other over somethin’ small like that. In the place that we used to be, family is survival. Suppose they’re startin’ to get bored.”

Cori knew that, and she knew it well. Despite being responsible for driving in the wedge between her and her family with her own hands, she would feel that heat in her stomach when she saw her mother reach for one of her sisters after walking right by her. Her excuse: there should never have been a wedge in the first place, no matter how she decided to live her life, and it was a pretty good reason if her word counted for anything. It was not Fíli’s fault that he was born first and therefore would be handed the crown, but that mattered little to the younger one who had to look forward to living in the shadow of his brother whose name would continue on into history in a more significant way thanks to fate. Maybe they were just as different as the hair on their heads.

The talk lasted no more than two minutes, and the three dwarves scuttled back into the cave with coats wrapped tightly around their bodies. Thorin looked no different than when he left or any other day of the week: stern brow set over biting eyes complementing an otherwise impassive face. The boys, however, were shaded by shame, as one would be before a parent they had disappointed. As they shuffled toward the back of their rock shelter, they both gave her an apologetic frown. She could hardly count herself offended by their personal disputes, but Thorin had obviously driven home a point that she dared not disrupt; they were his to rebuke if he felt the need, after all.

No other incident followed for the rest of the evening. They resumed their usual murmuring between them, though just a little more reservedly.

The next afternoon, the company crested a ridge with a vast view of the snowfall for miles masking the mountains around them. It was through a particularly light patch that Cori saw it: a massive wall of white cascaded over the peaks, smothering everything in its path and obscuring it all from view. She had never seen anything like it in all her life. They were directly in its line, and there was no way off the ridge. “Thorin!” she called with a quake in her voice.

“Group tighter!” Thorin bellowed over the tiding wind. “Do not lose sight of each other!”

A heavy, fierce blast of cold air preceded the white cloud. The ponies’ anxiety increased with their riders’ apprehension, dancing and resisting any direction. Cori became walled in on both sides by the brothers. No one could do a thing but watch helplessly as the furious storm fell upon them. The wind swept up underneath them, tossing any loose parts of their clothing into the air and whipping it about their bodies. The hobbit gasped at the intensity of the stunning bite in the new wave of cold air. She tugged her fur cap further over the tips of her ears, fumbling blindly with her scarf to tighten it and cover any skin. The scenery disappeared all at once, swallowing them in a blinding pit.

Only by some intervention of Aulë himself, Thorin led the company through the blizzard without incident, until they found sweet reprieve in a path swiftly covering with snow but still passable. Deeper and deeper into the valley below, the wind eased enough for them to hear each other. The dwarves exchanged shouts of relief, glaring at the snow blowing high over them. For the hobbit, the damage was done. All she could do was stare between Shadow’s ears as she trembled beneath her clothes and prayed that she would not fall off.

In no winter that she could recall had she felt such raw, all-consuming _cold._ She was five years old when the Fell Winter struck the Shire and froze the Brandywine. Her oldest brother remarked that the wood ran out quickly when the snow drifts were too high to collect anything, and their parents had to burn much of their furniture to keep their children from freezing. The memory was lost to her, though she imagined that cold would easily match this. There was no pain, for she was numb at first contact. She had forgotten what heat felt like within an hour.

The joy of the small troop did not last long when they came to a dead end with the cliff wall reaching straight up several hundred feet. No pony could make it; not even a dwarf could pick his way up there. Through the thinning snow, the silhouettes of the mountains in the late day light rose intimidatingly above them on all sides, trapping them in the valley. They stood precariously on a narrow lip in the slope that carried them down from the ridge. They were lost.

Everyone dismounted their ponies and huddled against the wall to put their heads together. “I told ya!” Dwalin shouted with his characteristic growl, though aimed uncharacteristically at his king. “Wait ‘til spring! That’s what I said! Did ya really believe we could make it in winter?!”

“We will make it! This is temporary. The path will reveal itself come dawn once this blizzard moves out, or we will retrace our steps and return to the route we were on. Do you not trust the strength of your own men to make it through to our kin?”

“At this point, it’ll be midsummer before we get there!” Dwalin huffed, jerking the reins of his pony to stare at the wall blocking their road once again.

“Is everyone all right?!” Thorin called out.

Groans of affirmation responded, though no one dared to be the one to say otherwise. Cori would be glad to do the honors, if she were not already frozen solid. Sliding off Shadow’s back had accompanied a muffled squeak when she dropped onto her tingling feet and legs. Hand clenched tightly around the reins, she pushed herself as close to the pony’s shoulder as he could. Miles back, he began to shiver along with her, so she tossed her spare cloak around him. The little grey was doing fine so far with his extremely thick coat and the blanket to keep him warm. At least one of them was spared some suffering, and she would rather it be him since she dragged him into this in the first place. She coughed into her fist, stumbling forward a little at the jolt. Fíli, bless his soul, noticed her and pulled her tightly to his chest as his relatives continued to quarrel. “How you doing?” he whispered, warm breath pleasantly tickling in her neck.

“I’ll live,” she replied with a quiver in her voice, and she sank further into his arms. This boy heated up like a cook fire doused with oil. She could almost melt as candle wax into him. Anything to get rid of this fragility taking her over. It made her sick, or that could be the cold. Biting her lip, she used the sting to focus on something other than the deep ache encapsulating her.

Ever vigilant, Thorin saw his nephew’s good deed. His face softened at the struggling hobbit. “We find shelter, then we figure it out from there.”

Suddenly, the air within the halted group split with a startled and terrified scream. Everyone turned their heads just in time to see Kíli’s right foot slide with the loose snow giving away beneath it. He scrambled for the bridle of his pony, but the animal shied away, ripping its tack out of his grip. The extra force sent him tumbling over the edge of the cliff.

“Kíli!” Thorin roared, lunging precariously toward the edge with surprising dexterity. The tips of his fingers touched Kíli’s sleeve, but his reach was not long enough to get a grip. He watched with wide eyes as a horrified rush of air left his lungs. The boy’s scream bounced off the rock walls as he disappeared over the side, his family’s cries echoing it.

Cori had no explanation for what she did after that. All of a sudden, every muscle in her body came alive with a rush of hot panic and wailed at her to follow that hand vanishing over the edge because _that boy would not die out here_. So she did. With a twist, she tore herself from Fíli’s grasp and dashed forward. She leapt over the side with a collective chorus of her name following after her, each voice ignored. All she saw was that dark head plummeting down the side of the mountain, and she was filled with a protective urge so strong, she may have jumped after him even if she knew what lay at the bottom.

The fall lasted for half a minute only, dragging on like short legs through the thick snow blanketing the slope. At one point, she lost sight of Kíli and focused on slowing herself down. She spun a few times, but always managed to right herself before she could start tumbling. Cold slush gathered in her socks, gloves, and shirt sleeves. It seemed to end as abruptly as it started, the scoop at the bottom pushing her into a roll. She stopped with her face pointed to the sky, ice pellets pelting her in the eyes and on her sensitive cheeks.

_It was a lot more fun when I was ten._

She sat up as a whole new degree of numbness set in, shaking off the snow clinging to her from head to toe. Nothing hurt. She whipped her head back and forth, surveying the valley for any variation in the starkness. A dark mound lay a few feet from her, unmoving. Her heart sank. “Kíli!” she called, struggling to her stiff feet and tripping over them as she barreled toward him. There was no way she walked away from that fall when he, a dwarf, did not. But he sprawled in the snow, hearing no word she uttered.

Dropping to her knees, she moved him onto his back with more strength than she thought she had at the moment. She expected an unconscious face to greet her when she did, so when a fierce growl erupted through clenched teeth, she jumped back a little. His hand fell upon his side, gripping his clothes in a relentless squeeze. “What hurts?” she demanded, kneeling back at his side and trying to move his coats.

“I hit a rock…on the way down,” he panted, eyes squinting in pain with each movement of his chest. “My ankle, too. Oh, that didn’t feel good.”

“I bet it didn’t.” She looked back up the way they came. So everyone else was smart and chose not to follow them as well. If they knew what was good for them, they would not take too long finding a way down. The wind was potent. “Can you move to that tree?” she asked, swiping snowflakes off her eyelashes. She could assess him better when she did not have to unbury him and herself every twenty seconds.

Together, they managed to pull him up and shuffle toward a bare wide oak sitting nearby. The accumulation underneath it was scanter, and they found a place within the roots to sit. Kíli let out a long sigh once the weight came off his left leg, leaning his head back against the trunk to catch his breath. Cori, attempting to still her shaking hands, pulled away the many layers covering him and took a peak at his torso. No blood stained his skin, only a large red place right below his chest that would undoubtedly start to bruise within the hour. “Just like your brother when I found him. There are better ways to try to outdo him that don’t involve maiming yourself.”

He scoffed, cheeks lifting in a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

“As if I’m astounded by two brothers taking a swing at each other. I grew up with two. They were worse.” She covered him back up as snow began to collect on his chest hair.

“It’s not what you think.”

“Look, I don’t need to know. It’s between you and him. Just don’t forget that you love each other, all right? It’s easier than you think, trust me. Just…don’t do that.”

He wanted to pry, but the wind carried their voices away, so he decided trying to make himself be heard was not worth the effort. “Am I going to live?”

“You’re the only one that can determine that, but I’m feeling positive.”

“You didn’t look very hard.”

That grin was no longer bashful. More like lecherous, and she pressed a palm over his face. “Save it for your elves.”

When she pulled her hand away, he stared back at her in horror. “What are you…?”

“When you seem to have the patience the rest of your kin lack when communicating with elves, I’m going to guess you found a link that doesn’t involve puffing out your chest and grabbing for your ax. Once again, I won’t pretend to know anything; I’m only relaying what I see.”

As she predicted, there was _much_ more to it than simple accord, judging by his blatant desperate search for a retort that turned up fruitless. He had been looking for something in Mirkwood—or someone—and almost as disappointed when they left as he was happy.

“Say nothing,” he pleaded with a mask of gruffness.

She nodded. “Of course.”

To add salt to the wound, out of nowhere, the wind whipped up more bitterly than before, tossing snow into their faces with stinging force. After drawing up her scarf to cover as much of her face as she could, Cori relinquished her outermost coat to the young dwarf. He tried with all his might to refuse, but a simple compromise to share the cover appeased him into silence. The assault continued for several minutes without respite, the frigid fingers of winter reaching beneath the tree to touch the figures lying at its base.

Time passed unhurriedly, but Cori would not have noticed either way. Her world shrank to alternating between staring into the blizzard and shivering, or a combination of the two. Her stomach churned uncomfortably, and she found it a good distraction from the intense throb pulsing throughout her body. This seemed familiar, though she had not the faculties now to remember the last time she sat in a snowstorm with nothing but a thin blanket against it, nor had she had them at the time. This was not a state in which one would retain anything, really. There was only cold and pain.

Stiffly, the hobbit turned her head toward the body taking up the other half of their cover. A new kind of chill shot through her when she saw what lay at her side. Kíli’s eyes were closed, his head lulled toward his left shoulder against the bark of the tree. His chest moved up and down against her arm along with the spasm wracking his whole frame, and that alone kept the panic at bay. But the heat that radiated from his body just a while ago was no longer there. This was not good at all. Finding the ability from somewhere, she sat up just enough to move her coat entirely over his upper body, adjusting her hat onto his head as well as it would fit. Immediately, the icy blast that struck her exposed body drove her into a ball, as if that would let her escape it. Escape was a distant dream.

Or maybe not.

Once her senses ceased, Cori found the bliss she forgot came with no cold, and she was perfectly content to submerge herself in it so long as the chill did not touch her. The darkness was kind for once, taking her away from the agony. There was not enough. She would fight to her very last breath for this relief.

Then something interrupted it. A pulse of discomfort seeking to drag her away from the quiet, soothing place she sat in. She fought against the rising pricks stabbing into her like a thousand needles, but the force behind them had much more strength than she could devote to her own cause. She had no choice but to move with it and let it carry her wherever it pleased. The pain eased.

A sound echoed as if from deep within an underground tunnel. It called her name, and a part of her drew near to it. _No._ To follow that voice would mean the end of this alleviation. There was so much pain where it drifted from. Why would anyone that she knew want to lead her to suffering? Could they not see she was perfectly content where she was? No, she refused to heed them.

Gradually, the tingles intensified, poking her relentlessly. Had she not just found a place of reprieve? What could possibly have tarnished her safe haven? She tried to move away from the increasing pain, finding that the further she fled the darkness, the more relief she gained. She would follow that divine pleasure wherever it went. The cold returned, but it was merely a chill compared to what she just escaped earlier. And there was no pain. She kept going toward it. The darkness left slowly, and though it drew more energy than she wanted to spend, she opened her eyes.

“Cori.”

That voice. She knew it. Deep, rough, yet calming at the same time. It was right above her, muffled just a little but clear as a crisp blue day. She felt as if she were floating. Or was she? Cori followed the prickling to certain parts of her body, noting the sensitivity behind her knees and around her back and upper arms. A small irk told her to move away from it, but there was warmth there, softly caressing where her skin was bare.

A flurry of other voices, dulled by distance, followed the first, incoherent but distressed. Then that familiar tone washed back over her like a soothing salve. “I have her. Take care of him. I have you, lass.”

It was meant to pacify her, and its intentions were true. The pain ebbed away into nothing but an ache, and she wanted to burrow further into whatever it was and never leave. Never be without this pleasure and peace.

She drifted aimlessly through the all-consuming relaxation for hours. Eventually, though, she resurfaced as if from a deep, satisfying sleep. All of her senses returned one by one. The wind still howled, but she did not feel it. Something caged her in, though it was not an unpleasant entrapment. A fire crackled quietly nearby, overtaken just a little by the quiet murmurings of deep voices all around her. She smelled the burning wood and another scent. Iron, horse, and something else. A spice of some sort that oddly tickled her nose. But that was not the only thing making her want to sneeze. She recognized the gentle brush of fur across her face, damp but clean and thick. It seemed to blanket her entirely, heated just right.

Finally, she opened her eyes. Her face was buried in fur and cloth, only a small opening in the corner of her left eye allowing her to see the flickering flames reflecting off stone walls. As consciousness returned almost completely, she realized her cheek was pressed into hot skin over hard muscle, soft hair covering it. The pressure around her sore, exhausted body came from large arms encasing her. Somebody held her tightly, the heat from their body seeping into hers. She looked as far left as she could, her head moving just a little. A hand lighted on her shoulder, thumb gently brushing back and forth over it. A thick ring encircled it just below the first joint. She recognized it.

Thorin.

She had no strength to protest or question, and that would be if she wanted to. Whether or not she had some sort of discontentment for him cradling her like a babe, for the first time in several days, she forgot what it was like to be cold. That mattered more than her frustrated pride. She tried to say his name for confirmation, but it only came out as a feeble hum. The last part managed to come through, however, and his chest rumbled beneath her in an answer.

“Aye. Welcome back. We thought you lost for a moment there.”

That did not come as insensitive as the words suggested. His hold on her tightened as he spoke. She tried to lift her head to see around them; the mumbling had ceased. “Kíli…” she sighed with no breath to give her voice strength.

“He is fine. Fíli is warming him now.”

“I tried to…keep him…”

His breath rustled her hair. “We know. We found him trying to put the coat back on you. That was foolish of you. What did I tell you about taking care of yourself?”

Had she any control of her limbs, she would have punched him in the chest. Could she not do a deed without her actions heavily criticized, at least once?

“We should know by now, Thorin,” Dwalin’s snickering voice came from somewhere behind her, which would have been to Thorin’s left, “the lass takes orders worse than a wee rookie handlin’ a sword for the first time. Obviously, it’s worked in everyone’s favor but her own.”

“I think that’s the point,” Fíli chimed in from in front of her, and Cori opened her eyes again. The fur in her face had moved out of the way, giving her a clear view of the prince cradling his brother in the same way she was held now. A smile stretched over his bearded face, twinkling fondly in his blue eyes. She returned it. She had little control over what she did ever since the blizzard began, if truth be told, but attempting to help someone, especially a young lad who had seen more bad times than good, was not something one could brush over.

As her strength flowed back into her at the volume of a trickling stream, she wondered how long she could stay in her spot. Her shivering had ceased, and while she was drained of energy, she felt it would be courteous to at least move off to “take care of herself,” as Thorin so eloquently put it. But she had no desire to vacate the cocoon of drowsy warmth swirling around her. Despite where she lie, she was puzzlingly cozy. Then Thorin spoke again, softly enough for just her ears, and she forgot all about her musings.

“You have so far assisted both of my nephews, Miss Houndberry, placing your comfort and safety below theirs. I do not pretend that that is a trivial thing to a hobbit, as I know those are two things your kind are inherently fond of. Compassion for my kin is no less significant to me. I am forever grateful to you.”

“It’s no less than they deserve,” she blurted out. “They are good lads. They haven’t stinted on the benevolence either.”

He hummed. “Good. They are better than me in that regard, and in many more ways beyond that.”

Self-degradation hardly seemed fitting for a courageous warrior king of the dwarves who had the unfailing loyalty of his men. Somehow, hearing his thoughts of himself left her bothered.

He opted to steer away from that. “Are you hungry? Ion has already passed around the rations for the night.”

Hm. Food or a surprisingly comfortable substitute for a bed? She nestled into her pillow, then remembered it was bare flesh that was beneath her cheek, and sat as still as possible as a blush crept up her neck and into her face and ears. “I’m good for now. You must be, though.”

“I am fine. Your health comes first. You were chilled long before Kíli fell, and I did not think to give you heed while the dwarves endured the storm just fine.”

She shook her head as furiously as she could. “No. I want no special treatment. Ever. I’ve weathered much worse conditions, and I will continue to do so as I am called to, whether by you or an employer or myself.” She never wanted to submit to the hardships of the life she chose to make for herself. Spite was a strong motivator. “As a farmer’s daughter and a traveler, I have never known a simple life as Bilbo comes from. I’ve never been given sympathy, or anything at all. I’ve earned what I have. That won’t start now, especially not from the likes of you.”

He huffed a small laugh. “No one would doubt your conviction. But you were made the same way as Bilbo was. Do not injure yourself trying to prove a point.”

“Enough with the ‘you’re not a dwarf’ stuff. No, I’m not, and I don’t ever want to be anything other than what I am. So stop comparing me to you and your kin, because you will be disappointed every time.” It was as if he wanted to convince her that the dwarves were necessary for her survival here. That, without them, she would have killed herself long ago, and they were superior survivors. Had he not just complimented her on her help to Kíli? Poppycock.

He paused for a moment, entirely still. “I said nothing of the sort.”

“Your exact words to me at Beorn’s, actually. But I’d have more luck debating with a brick wall, so just let it drop, yeah?” Then she remembered something. “What you’re doing is enough payment for Kíli, so thank you and leave your restitution at that.”

He seemed tenser than before, his arms around her stiff, but he did not move to let her go. Nor did he seem inclined to puff steam out of his ears. Maybe she had finally found a crack in his thick skull.

“I doubted Bilbo, and I got a slap in the face in return. I should know better than to make the same mistake twice. You have proven your worth more than once already. One outlying incident is not a strong case. You will hear nothing like that from me again.”

That…was surprisingly simpler than she imagined. “Thank you.”

Once she worked up an appetite encouraging enough to pull her from her comfort, she received her meat and bread alongside Kíli, who scarfed his down despite his own sluggish movements. For the rest of the evening, she felt eyes on her, ones she did not have to look for to know where they came from. It was back to perplexed stares again, it seemed. She had no idea what he thought he would find, but she would not stop him from looking to his heart’s content. She found it gratifying to be so vexing, in a way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cori ain't fooling anyone. She cares, and she enjoys the "stares." Who wouldn't be glad to have those beauties fixed on them? ;D
> 
> Someone expressed confusion about something last chapter. KEEP DOING THAT. Ask questions, even if it's just something you're curious about. I need to know if all my bases are covered so no one's left wondering. Wow, I sound like my Chemistry professor. "Ask me things!" XD
> 
> <3


	11. Split in the Road

There truly was no winning for the hobbit, was there?

Unconsciousness while lying on Thorin’s chest predictably brought her a dreamless sleep. But to trust that that was the end of her nightly problems would be foolish, and she dared not take the chance for the remainder of their time in the Misty Mountains. Even while her body begged for time to recover, she continued her endeavor of abstinence as the company moved on the day following the incident. She asked for no special treatment, did she not? That included from herslf.

A stint in her plan came in the form of an extreme cold which she entirely expected. There was truth to her mother’s insistence on swaddling her like a babe every time she left the house during a snowfall. It would have been easy to ignore, as she had done many times in the past when she had no room for such things while on business. The dwarves, however, chose not to, and she found that their mother henning after her sniffling nose and wracking coughs seemed to make the symptoms all the worse. Kíli’s guilt over putting her in that situation, on top of his escape from any consequences other than a sore ankle, had him hovering over her like a bee to stonecrop. Eventually, she became fed up, not so politely asking him to let her breathe what she could, and reaping the remorse that followed when he dejectedly sat beside his brother without another look in her direction the rest of the evening.

She truly needed to remember that the boy had too big of a heart to be suppressed, and there was no reason to stomp that out with her cold, hard one.

So, severely sleep-deprived and utterly miserable was how she greeted the western side of the Misty Mountains. At least the snows had melted a tad.

Thorin decided Imladris was too far out of the way for the company to make a stop, but no one seemed heartbroken by the decision either. In fact, they made a great show of concluding that enough time had been wasted so far, particularly in their small detour to Beorn’s, that they could not afford another pause anyway. Cori had no reason to stop in, so she let them continue on craning their necks to see around the valley toward the west, laughing to herself at how obvious they were while trying to be subtle. Dwarves did not very easily go against their nature, after all.

“You have to see them, Cori,” Kíli enthused with all the energy of a spring hare. “They have to be there, I’m sure.”

"Oh, as if they just up and walked off,” Fíli ribbed. “I believe that’s entirely contradictory to the ‘turning to stone’ principle.”

“Well, I don’t think the elves would take too kindly to lawn ornaments as ugly as those things. Even they have standards.”

Cori glanced between the two, blinking heavily. “I haven’t the slightest what you two are talking about.” Her head felt as if it were made of stone, if that added anything to the nonsense they were babbling about. She had to have nodded off at some point, because she certainly did not remember crossing the Bruinin.

The brothers glanced between each other, mouths open wide. “We haven’t told you about the trolls?” Fíli gasped.

They said much about the Quest for Erebor, but one thing they had yet to elaborate on that she could recall had been brought up in passing was the trolls. “Delighted to hear about it.”

Not unfamiliar with trolls, Cori found their story plausible. Dwalin’s smirk throughout the whole retelling gave that away, too. They seemed disturbed by the fact that the trolls admitted to having feasted on dwarf before, but that went without saying. Of course, she _had_ to hear about Kíli’s heroic dash to their burglar’s rescue, the valiance of such an act quickly shut down by Dwalin who reminded him that it was essentially the brothers who put Bilbo in that position in the first place.

Then they came upon the site, the clearing in the woods cramped with three monstrous figures trapped in time. They certainly did not exaggerate much. As she looked at them, she had to laugh aloud. “Bilbo Baggins, standing up against _those things_ with a level head? Had he had too much Longbottom? Hobbits tend to grow in stature when they’ve smoked a bit, at least in their heads.”

“Muddled he was not,” Thorin commented as he stared up at the towering creatures. “His wits were what kept us alive.”

“Oh, if you’re going to assume he was sober when he did all that wordplay, then you’ve yet to see the power of a hobbit who’s flying with the birds. It’s magic rivaling the elves.”

He turned back to her, a wide grin of amusement stuck in his beard. “Then I suppose I should share my pipe with you more often.”

The unexpected, genuine smile was not the only thing that caught her off guard. That sounded oddly unlike the friendly jest it was supposed to be, and not entirely in a negative way. “I wouldn’t recommend it,” she replied, turning to hide the pink tint blossoming on her face.

If anyone was muddled, it was Cori after spending an evening cradled like a babe in the king’s arms. She was going mad for certain. She did not know what caused the shift in her poised confidence, but no matter how much she tried, she could not avert her mind from how warm he was and how reluctant she had been to leave that. It was nice. She hated it. Every time she talked to him, she could feel her cheeks warm and her stomach knot at the direction her thoughts went. Communication was complicated, and she had tried to avoid it as much as possible the past few days. No problem, right? She had not entirely made herself out to be a social person amongst this group to start with.

Except, Thorin was starting to initiate conversation with her more. Sarcasm heavily inflected a lot of what he said, but rather than jabbing at her like he had at the beginning, he turned to a more teasing tone. He spent nearly two days riding away from Rivendell with a lighter, less burdened set in his face. She chalked it up to be the absence of elves as they skirted around Imladris, but a lot of that uncharacteristic approaching-sunniness had been aimed at her. Where did she start interpreting that? It almost came out of nowhere, and it started as soon as they entered the Misty Mountains.

The company chose to settle down for the night beside the Hoarwell. Its gentle trickling in the dark set a peaceful mood over camp, and combined with the warm fire and fresh, hot meat Kíli gathered earlier in the day, Cori seriously debated whether or not to keep up her nightly routine as before. It had grown more difficult after tasting good rest once. While she thought it would take only a little bit of conviction to push the extreme desire aside, the decision actually lie in the hands of her companions. Because they had had enough.

“Fíli’s on first watch,” Thorin announced as he turned his empty bowl in to Ion. “Vhatner on second, and Ion third.”

Cori blinked. “Uh…”

Entirely expecting a noise from her, he immediately threw his hand up. “That’s my final word, Cori.”

Irritation kindled. “I suppose it’s law, then,” she murmured beneath her breath. She quipped quite a bit at a level no one could hear, and she prided herself on how her voice always remained close to her. Tonight, however, the bubbling vexation pushed a little more air through. Whether Thorin actually understood her or not mattered little, but he certainly knew the nature of her mumbling.

“A word, Miss Houndberry,” he said, rising to march out of camp toward the river.

Cori ground her teeth, ignoring the array of expressions pointed to her as she got up and followed. She swayed on her first step, almost pitching toward the fire when the toe of her boot caught in the dirt. But she righted herself quickly and carried on with her eyes pointedly fixed on her destination so her feet knew where to go. She felt the loss of the fire’s heat and let that fuel her agitation.

Thorin stopped at the bridge connecting the East Road over the river, staring at the water as he waited for her to catch up. Her goal was to let him know how much he was inconveniencing her, and that began with a dramatic bracing of her hands on her hips as she stood in front of him. Of course, he had probably seen it all in his time from his many courtly negotiations, so he just stared at her. “You were doing good there for a while.”

“What? Blindly obeying your orders like a good little commoner to her king? Let me get something straight here, if it hasn’t hit you already. I am neither _that_ , nor are you _that_.”

“You have done as I’ve asked without question since Mirkwood because you have wanted to. I’ve done nothing to force your hand. What changed your mind, I don’t know. But you’ve shifted it once again, and it confuses me.”

“Oh, so are you going to call me a moody woman now?”

He held up a hand once again, and she fought the urge to bat it away. “I had no intention of antagonizing you. I just want to know why you haven’t been sleeping.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Obviously I am since I’m able to get up on my pony and ride every day.”

“Barely. I could concede that nearly freezing to death has affected your health, but your lethargy began as we entered the mountains. On top of that, Brur reported that you took his shift twice after serving your own time. The others have said the same thing. That’s five hours of no sleep, if you even get any when you finally do lie down. That worries me. What is going on?”

She shrugged. “It’s this damn cold. I don’t sleep good in it, so I just make myself useful instead of just lying there doing nothing.”

“Many of us have extra blankets we don’t use that we could lend you. Why have you not asked?”

“I’ve already given a good explanation for that.”

He rolled his eyes. “And how has it gotten into your head that functioning like everyone else is ‘special treatment?’ Come on, Cori. Try a little harder.”

She clenched her jaw, staring off across the water. How was this such a difficult thing to grasp? She had done just fine so far, so obviously, there was nothing to worry about. Her mouth opened to accuse him of something he promised not to do: underestimate her, but he beat her to the punch.

“Take it from me, as I have also experienced this. You cannot spend the rest of your life avoiding the images you see in sleep.”

Her head whipped up so fast, her neck popped. She set a warning glare on him. If he so much as _tried_ …

“I won’t assume what you see, but if it is bad enough to miss sleep, especially after traveling all day, I would advise telling someone about it.”

“You first.”

His eyes sharpened. “If I haven’t the right to ask you of your tortures, you hold no right to mine. Secondly, I did not insinuate me. Obviously, you have confidence in Fíli and Kíli more than me.”

“Oh, no. You’ve got the wrong idea if you think I’ve let my guard down since we began this whole thing. You all have been kind to me, but I’m not stupid.”

“Why do you say that?” He crossed his arms, looking all the more like an interrogator. “What have we done that prevents you from trusting us?”

She scoffed. “As if you’re not the first to bristle like a cat at something fishy.” A sigh rushed from her nose, a conscious attempt at reining in her agitation. “Look, Thorin. You’re a good man and a good king, if this unconditional loyalty your people hold for you has anything to say. And I’ve seen it for myself. You all have shown me generosity and compassion that I haven’t felt for years, and that means a great deal. But you are still dwarves.”

His chin tipped up. He certainly looked more irked than before. “And what prejudices would you like to voice?”

Her lip twitched. “I haven’t been welcomed in the halls of your kin for many, many years. Despite providing you all with furs that I’ve earned praise for and that I price fairly, I am still given the cold shoulder because I don’t grow hair in the right places or my feet are too big or my ears are pointed. Would you like to explain _that_ , Your Majesty?”

Despite the thorny visage curling around him, he seemed to be keeping an impressive hold on his infamous temper. He spoke calmly. “We have not been welcomed by other races for thousands of years. The world has not been kind to us either. We learned that it is better to remain amongst ourselves before we are taken down from the inside.”

“You trusted Bilbo just fine.” Oh, what was she grasping for? There was no reason for these questions, and yet, she wanted _something_ that she just could not put her finger on. His approval had begun to become a big deal lately, and it startled her.

The dwarf showed his smarts again, shrinking where he had slowly puffed up and taking a small but noticeable step back. “If you have had any reason to feel unwanted amongst us, I apologize. Your presence has made this journey…a little more tolerable. And I speak for the entire company. That is why we are concerned for you. You do not have to speak of whatever you feel you cannot say. Just do what you need to do that will allow you to sleep.”

A small grin flickered on her lips. “The King Under the Mountain goes out of his way to see to a small, insignificant halfling’s well-being once again. Careful. Don’t want to give the impression that you care about an outsider.”

The flame that had ignited in him died slowly, and he just sighed as he turned away. Just before he took a step, however, he mumbled something that had her freezing on the spot. “Of course, I care about you.” Before she could spark up her own interrogation, he left her by the bridge with fast feet and stiff shoulders.

Cori could not stand there for long; that would be disastrous to her racing mind. Already it was jumping to preposterous conclusions that had no grounds and threatened to land her in an even worse state than she already was. It was laughable, actually. The very thought had her almost recoiling.

She had never felt more like a confused tween.

               ********************************

The company followed the East Road for another two weeks and a half, making good time by picking up the pace over the slightly more level terrain. With the Misty Mountains now behind them, the dwarves and lone hobbit enjoyed the comparatively good weather; while the winter brutally scarred the mountains, it was mild across the hills of Eriador, giving the dwarves hope that their wandering and struggling kin were not burdened so much. The seasons were the least of their problems, however. The marshes just outside of Bree stole away their lifted spirits before they could grow too comfortable.

While the Midgewater never actually looked appealing, the absence of any vegetation left a threat hanging in the air that none would ever be allowed to grow there again. How it ever did every spring only the Valar could answer. The group kept to the road, traversing the outskirts of the bog, but even just having one foot in and one out left a person swallowed up by the environment. A dark, chilly fog rested over the land, swirling about the skeletal trees and silently brushing through the reeds. It was much too silent.

“Always got an eerie feelin’ from this accursed place,” Dwalin grumbled to himself, switching from staring at his pony’s sloshing feet through the cold, murky water to gazing across the flooded terrain. “Leaves the skin crawlin’.”

“That’d be the midges,” Cori replied, contrastingly noting the lack of buzzing around the ears that usually accompanied journeying through the marshes. “Should probably check everywhere once we get out. Shoes, small clothes, hair. And don’t forget _everywhere._ ”

“I want a bath already,” said Kíli who never made a peep while covered in road grime and horse hair.

Somehow, Thorin stayed as put-together as ever—leaving Cori with the painful debate of how long she could allow herself to look. However, as he studied the swampy field, he seemed acutely uneasy.

“Long as I don’t have to dip my boots into that,” Fíli muttered, patting his mare’s neck. “Sorry, girl.”

Cori wondered whether they would have to spend a night here. During the rainy season when the water rose, it would sometimes take her at least three days to get out of the marshes if she refrained from killing her pony. That was if the flies were unsuccessful in carrying her off. She entirely agreed with Dwalin: the place gave off a ghastly aura. The less time spent in here the better.

All of a sudden, the line stopped, and Cori looked to the front when Shadow almost bumped into the next rump. Fíli, who had been tasked with finding the best route through the swamp, stared straight ahead with a rod-stiff back and an iron grip on his reins. Cori maneuvered Shadow around those in front of her and sidled up beside him. “What’s wrong, Fíli?”

His usual rosy complexion had grown pale, and his eyes were as round as dinner plates. “I don’t see that, do I?”

There was plenty to see and nothing at all, but she followed his line of sight for anything peculiar, entirely expecting to find some vagabond drunkenly stumbling through the mud.

“Mahal’s beard,” somebody breathed, and it seemed to cause everyone to see it at the same time.

“Is that…?” Kíli began, and Cori hummed in affirmation.

An ale-soaked traveler he may have been, but he was nothing more than a lump of torn, bloody flesh now. And he was not alone. Two other mangled corpses—presumably male, as far as the shredded faces could show—sat on a hump of dirt in a frozen heap. They had been dead for days.

Thorin jumped to the ground, sliding his ax from the sheath on his saddle and moving the tangle of limbs around as if looking for something. Cori rode up beside him, resisting the urge to pull her scarf over her face. The dirty water mixed terribly with the decay of the bodies. “Wargs, yeah?”

All dwarves nervously looked around, ready for the trap to spring on them.

“Why would they have left them here?” Her spine shivered when she remembered staring down a set of teeth as vividly as if it had been the week before. The dogs had a taste for fresh flesh above anything else.

“They like to play,” Thorin growled, swinging back into the saddle. “No shortage of easy food around.”

Her breath hitched. _Easy food._ What was the definition of easy food for a hungry wolf and his master in these parts?

“What do we do?” Fíli asked quietly, obviously disturbed as he stared down at the carnage.

“We keep our guard and our pace up,” Thorin announced not just to him, but the rest of the company. “If orcs are here, they could just as likely be in the mountains. Our kin may still be under attack as we speak. We need to provide direction for them as much as we need to lend ourselves to their aid. Another month lies in between us and them. We must make haste.” Punctuating his grand speech, he turned his pony around and led the way passed the bodies with his focus entirely on his surroundings and the path before them. Simultaneously shaking off the nerves from earlier, the rest of the dwarves did the same, following without hesitation. Led by the unshakable confidence of their king, they found the road once more and put the diversion behind them.

Cori, however, could not. She managed to put the idea from her mind for almost two months so far, close to forgetting it altogether. This just ignited the spark once more. Orcs were right on the Shire’s doorstep. Not only that, but they had been for several months, according to the letter from Thorin’s missing lord of Ered Luin, the one they were on their way to replace. A force of orcs that had the power to invade a dwarven hall, which was locked up tighter than a vault, could push right through the Ranger defensive that prowled around the hobbit’s haven and plow over the inhabitants without so much as an “as you please.” And if they were as oblivious to the outside as she remembered them being, they would have no time to prepare before an attack occurred.

Where on this Valar-forsaken road would they have been able to hear about an attack on the Shire? They would be none the wiser.

The fear coursing with her blood was not enough to quell the anticipation of going home. It had been three years since her last visit, and much to catch up on from all that time. Still, there were far more reasons to stay away. Very convincing reasons that she wanted to adhere to. Any thought of that, however, flooded her mind with the nightmares that had quelled since passing through the Misty Mountains, and how real they seemed.

They could be real. Those bodies proved it. She had to go there.

Another day of swift riding landed them in Bree where a now doubly-headstrong Thorin needed careful convincing to allow the company at least one night’s rest with good food and a bed for their tired, aching bones. Predictably, the boys were the ones to have the biggest impact. At least once, Fíli pointed to the hobbit, which seemed to make a strong enough case in itself. Cori was too tired to dwell on it; over their journey across the East Road, she had tried her hardest to forget the night by the bridge at the Hoarwell. It was easy when she had to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

The snow had melted by the time they rode into town, leaving the streets rutty with muck. Townsfolk stared as the Erebor company moved on by; dwarves passing through were not an uncommon sight in Bree anymore, but no one could deny that these particular dwarves were not the typical caravan marching from the Blue Mountains into the east. The group tended to their exhausted and filthy ponies as much as possible, leaving them in the care of the livery to head over to the Prancing Pony. An ale and abundant fresh meat occupied most of everybody’s minds. Despite their recent discovery, their spirits remained high.

Cori made frequent use of this inn on her way to and from the Blue Mountains just as any traveler did, finding the reception far more welcoming to small folk than any other establishment. The ale actually cost what it was worth, which helped her coin purse feel a bit better when she had to cave in for something to wet her throat. The food, however, was pleasant, when money was no issue. Winter saw fewer patrons than usual, and this early in the evening, the tavern sat a little on the quiet side. The keep seemed excited for a large group of dwarves to order a hearty bit to eat, and he grinned the entire time Thorin negotiated for rooms.

With ale flowing from the taps and smoke turning the air hazy, the dwarves celebrated well past dark how far they had come and toasted to a smooth last leg of the journey. Outside, a few flakes of snow fluttered to the ground, but the inn was warm and cozy. Cori sat on the top of the table where her companions feasted, facing the tall crackling fireplace. In her hands, she nursed a mug, but barely took two sips as she stared into the flames. She spoke little throughout the night, content to listen to the others and stay within her own thoughts, no matter how she gained an aching head from the jumbled mess that was her mind. No one seemed to notice her shrugging off the conversation, absently calling her name to ask an opinion intermittently. She grinned and gave them a satisfying answer, then went back to staring into the flames and swinging the one leg dangling of the table.

“So we got four rooms,” Dwalin steered the conversation at some point further into the night, his impossibly thicker accent leaving Cori begging for a translator. “Two man beds in each. Ya’ll’ll hafta decide who yer most comf’terble wakin’ up curled next ta in the mornin’, ‘cause we’re sharin’.”

“Haven’t we already found that out by now?” Ion cackled into his mug. “Me ‘n the lass have a few odd couples we could point out.”

“There’s thirteen o’ us, though,” Brur replied.

“Four to a room,” Thorin’s rumbling voice suddenly appeared beside Cori, and she jerked her head to the side to see him skirting around the corner of the table and leaning up against it to face the fire. He sipped from his fresh cup and tipped his head toward the hobbit. “The lady has her own, so she is spared close quarters with any of you.” He startled her by throwing her a wink as he turned away from the half-hearted, slurred complaints.

“Hey!” Fíli barked, calling the attention of the whole table. “I think she’s earned a bit o’ privacy from you all, don’t you think? After all the hard work she’s put in for us, dealing with our grumpy arses every day. No one can deny that that’s not a feat. How ‘bout we show a bit of appreciation for one of two of the most amazing hobbits we’ve ever come to know, eh?”

A rumbling reply of affirmation came after, the table all the way down to the floor vibrating with the stomping and mug slamming. Another toast followed, and despite not realizing that who they were toasting did not join in, they downed their ale in hefty gulps. Fíli sent her a sloppy grin which she was powerless not to return in appreciation. It left her a little giddy, actually, the dwarves that she had spent so much time with now showing their thanks to her once again. It did not feel forced or contrived like she imagined it to be when she first experienced it. Dwarves hid little of their emotions when their blood turned partly into alcohol. It was as real as it could get.

“I’ll pay for the room,” she murmured to Thorin once they quieted down a bit. “Or I can easily fit myself into the corner of another room.”

He shook his head with finality. “I think they just expressed well why we won’t let you do either. You deserve some privacy.” Something twinkled in his eye. “Unless you’re planning on sharing with someone.”

She snorted. “And why would I do that?”

“Few would have a problem with it.”

“And who are these few?”

He glanced over his shoulder with an unidentifiable emotion mixing in with the mirth. “Fíli has not hidden his admiration of you.”

She turned around as well, seeing the blond prince whispering something into his giggling brother’s ear. “His blood debt or whatever it is means a great deal to him. He’s made that clear.”

He nodded. “Yes, that.”

She quirked an eyebrow over her mug. “That’s not what you meant?”

All he had to do was look at her for the realization to strike. And she suddenly wanted to laugh harder than she had in a while. She covered her mouth to hide her giggles. “Oh, no,” she whined.

“Mm, hm,” he replied, watching her closely.

“Where on earth did he pick _that_ up at?” she whispered, trying to remember when he could have possibly been so obvious yet she had no idea. Of course, his uncle knew him better than anyone aside from his mother, so it was no wonder he was able to see a change in him that she could not.

“From nothing you’ve done,” Thorin answered, suddenly more relaxed. “He is young, and he feels attached to you since you saved his life. He will get over it quickly.”

 _Yavanna, I hope so._ While it was almost cute in a way, the last thing she needed in this world was a dwarf thinking he was in love with her. “Time away might do more good, then.”

He paused with his cup to his lips. His brow pinched as his eyes squinted. “What does that mean?”The time to leave was most certainly when they put Bree to their tails, so she could not put it off much longer. “I’m taking off for the Shire in the morning.”

Any amusement from their earlier topic quickly vanished, the fire highlighting the new creases in his face. He seemed taken aback. “You’re leaving?”

She crooked an eyebrow. Was it that shocking? “Wasn’t that my intentions the whole time? To get to the other side of the Misty Mountains? Your contract said until my concerns take me elsewhere. I have very big concerns elsewhere now.”

“Those being?”

“And what is it to you?”

He was tense now. “You have listened in on our business for the past two months. Am I not allowed some curiosity?”

That was not entirely something she could have helped, as they hardly refrained from talking about their plans after reaching the Blue Mountains. He seemed excessively defensive. “If you must know, I’m worried for my family. If orcs decide to plunder the Shire, the hobbits will have very little to defend themselves. They don’t exactly make hobbies out of crafting weapons, you know. They need to be warned how serious this situation is.”

He nodded contemplatively, suddenly downcast. “If you think it best.”

She tilted her head to look at him better. “If I didn’t know better, Your Majesty, I’d say you didn’t want me to leave.”

The tiniest, almost imperceptible twitch lifted the corner of his mouth. “You have overstayed your welcome.”

She pursed her lips. “So I see.”

Something bounced around in his eyes, an emotion she could not recognize. Certainly not on him. His face very inadequately tried to counter it. She reigned in her gasp. He looked so vulnerable. “I will assume you are not meeting with us in Ered Luin.”

She quirked a brow. “Why would I do that? Did I insinuate that I would?”

His expression sharpened like a swift sword, and he brought his mug to his lips as he glared into the fire. “I see that is an unpleasant alternative. You must be dying to be rid of us. My mistake.”

“Come on, Thorin. I may have been a little uptight when we first began this journey, but when in recent days have I showed any dislike for you all?”

“You have not definitively showed us one way or the other. I have only my assumptions with you, as you choose to play close to the chest. And we are the ones you defame for being cautious.”

 “It was a joke! Honestly, you take everything on the nose. I haven’t decided what I’ll do.”

“Take your time, Miss Houndberry.” He slammed his cup down on the table with enough force to make her jump. “Wouldn’t want you making any hasty decisions that you’ll regret. Safe travels on your path.” With a sharp whip of his black hair, he twisted back around and marched toward the stairs leading to their rooms.

Cori watched him leave, suddenly very confused and equally agitated. She had actually planned on venturing on to Durmark once she had slipped in and out of the Shire. After all, the fate of Enna’s parents still nagged at her. Once that was done, well…back to work, she assumed.

That was not entirely the farewell she wanted to exchange with the dwarf king, but judging by his ale-flushed face, he probably would not be any more agreeable in the morning. It left her irritatingly glum, fuel added to the fire when she could not decipher why.

 _You know why._           

No. Whatever she was feeling would have to dissolve like Fíli. Maybe getting away from this lot would be the best for all.

“You’re leaving?”

She sighed, glancing to her left to notice that all the dwarves watched her warily, yet curiously awaiting her answer. _Yavanna, give me strength_. “Anyone else with any comments to add?”

The first one her eyes went to was Fíli. He seemed concerned, dazed, and precipitously so much younger. “We expected you to leave us for Rivendell, but when you didn’t, we thought you’d decided to continue on with us. We never intended to stop you from going no matter what, though.”

“We just…” Kíli paused. “We’d miss you.” The rest of the group nodded silently.

“Uncle has a hard time expressing that,” Fíli assured her, which did little to calm her.

It was too bad, really. When she finally tasted peace with their king, she knew something good could come out of it. She enjoyed it, the smiles and the talking. She may have to acquire a better appreciation for ale. It made way for the truth to come out, something she desperately needed before she dived in too deep.

“Maybe I’ll see you in Durmark. If I don’t…” She made sure to give each eye staring up at her a quick glance. Sitting next to her, Ion—bless his heart—patted her knee, give her a small nod. They knew what she wanted to say but could not. This was not easy for her either.

How had it possible gotten to the point where she had to admit she would miss the company of dwarves? Oh, sweet irony.         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be out two days ago, but the last part of the chapter just didn't seem right to me, so I rewrote it. Then I did it again, and again, and again. I couldn't decide for the life of me! On top of a research paper I couldn't decide the topic on either (which I have, thank God), and I've had a pretty stressful week writing wise. UGH! Well, things are better now and I can continue on like nothing every happened. XD
> 
> <3


	12. Where It All Began

Cori woke before dawn with a very influential inclination to do nothing. She just stared at the ceiling and dwelled on the abundant thoughts flooding her mind without focusing on one in particular. That lasted longer than she intended. First light had not yet begun to show itself when she finally slipped out of her cot and into her clothes. Her unpacked saddle bags sat next to the door, ready for her silent departure as she had prepared for the night before.

One last thing before she left. Never one to leave her debts unpaid for long, she scrawled a quick note to leave on the chest next to a few coins, enough to cover the expense of the room. The door clicked quietly behind her.

It felt wrong to sneak into the night without a proper goodbye. She thought of the boys, Dwalin, and what they would all think of her when they found her room empty in the morning. Or would they expect this? She hoped to have left a better impression of herself with them, but her dismissal of herself to her room the night before had been a little awkward. They might understand. There was, after all, no true necessity to stick around when the road called, and they understood that more than anyone.

The livery boy was adamant about seeing to Shadow for her, but she always cared for her pony herself. Pitying the lad, she tossed him a coin and told him breakfast was on her. That seemed to brighten him up a bit, and he disappeared from the stables to find just that. Shadow’s fur tangled with dried mud, but she made quick work of it and had him tacked up in no time. Pretending she most ardently was not a coward (ironically the perfect descriptor for her), she set out for the western gate of Bree.

As dawn crested and melted into a bright, crisp morning, Cori put behind her thoughts of the people she left behind only to have them replaced with those that lay before her. Her chest tightened every time she thought about going back home to Buckland, if not for longing of what had once been, then for bereaving of what was now. Things had not been well the last time she left, but when were they ever felicitous? After three years, she could not count on a warm embrace. That left her doleful.

When she reached the Old Forest, yet another blizzard set in, because her luck had lasted too long, apparently. Fortunately, this time, she had been caught in a place she knew better than her own name. The trees on her left gave her cause for wariness, as usual, the long tendrils of the bare, skeletal trees reaching out for her. An effective visual deterrent for curious, wandering fauntling feet, especially when backed by endless tales of how those trees could actually snatch someone right off the ground. She knew better now after passing through it once; nothing ever happened to her. However, trusted family swore by the walking trees. She would let that and the squalid state it left her in keep her out for a good while.

As the whitening hills passed, she felt the first touches of emptiness creep up from her stomach. Something was missing. She knew those dwarves would leave a mark on her after two months with them, but she never would have imagined it would weigh this heavily on her. The silence almost made her paranoid; she lost the habit of watching her own back when she had a dozen pairs of eyes to do it for her. She was on her own again, as she had been for a decade and a half. Things had changed now. She would adapt because her survival depended on it, but how long would it take?

Slowed by the storm, the lone rider with her mount took a whole day to pass the forest and finally reach the Brandywine. What she could see beyond the road looked just the same as the Shire always did. Fields were empty for the off season, but cows and goats stood comfortably in their pastures despite the weather. Chimneys poking out of smials and houses smoked like an evening pipe, candlelight glowing in the windows. All was as it should have been this time of year, and the dread that had built within her and gripped her heart since discovering the men’s bodies in the marshes finally ebbed away.

That senseless argument had all been in vain, but the damage was done. Her confusion, however, remained. Those dreams still clung to her like wet cloth.

The snow stopped an hour before she reached Buckleberry. As she rode into town wrapped in several layers against the persistent wind, she surveyed the one thing she could count on as a constant in her life. Hobbits were never fond of change, and it showed in everything interspersed into daily life, right down to the color of the round doors covering their burrows. This place was almost exactly how she left it. Brandy Hall stood out on the peninsula carved by the curve in the river, the glow of the windows striking through the stark grey of evening. Catching what little light they could, children scrambled out into the white powder, bundled up in scarves and mittens, and got to work making snowmen and marring the smooth surface of the snow with shapes.

Cori smiled to herself. The peak of childhood innocence, when even ice was exciting. She, too, waited patiently with her siblings for her mother to say when it was all right to leave their cozy little smial and begin exploring the world outside. It all seemed so fresh and different from the green hills of summer and spring. Different. Even that lost its charm, however, and she allowed her feet to be carried off to newer pastures. It went without saying that she never found contentment anywhere else either, and she had to allow satisfaction in what she did find.

Approaching the outskirts of the city where the smials sat farther apart to make room for the farmland fertilized by the Brandywine, she turned onto the third path on the left leading away from the main road: Berry Bunch Bend. After a five minute ride, she saw the hobbit hole where she was born rise up a bump in the small valley that was tilled earth three seasons out of the year. The same grip clenched over her heart as her eyes lay on the place that raised her. Longing and regret mixed together. But it did not stop the tender smile that pulled at her lips. As expected, the front yard was also occupied. In a flurry of hats and knitted scarves, her nieces and nephews chased each other around in circles, throwing snowballs back and forth. Four from Margow and two from her oldest brother Dugon. Instantly, her gaze settled on Teagan, the bright shrub of gold bouncing around on his head amidst the darker heads of his sister and cousins. It quieted something in her chest to see him well and laughing. All of them, actually. Four of her five very busy siblings gave her a whole herd of brats to spoil every time she came back, which she used as the solution to the guilt she felt for never spending enough time with them. She made sure to delight them with her stories of the outsiders when their parents were not around, yet they still managed to find out. It was a wonder they allowed her anywhere near them, considering their already strained relationship. By the front door, covered in a thick coat pulled up to the curls of his salt-and-pepper hair, was the patriarch of the Houndberry clan.

Dennon Houndberry gained none of the sternness he was raised with by Cori’s grandfather, Dill, choosing rather to rule his household with love and warmth. His gentle features and bright friendly eyes aided in this. Each of his children remained ever grateful to him for that, joyfully watching him smother his grandchildren with the same sugar sweetness. It was for that reason that he still melted for his youngest daughter, never allowing her willfulness to get in the way of his love for her. He was soft clay for all his girls, but he retained something special for her. It made visiting so much easier.

None of the children recognized Shadow, as Cori had still ridden her other pony, Dunner, when they last saw her. The watchful elderly eyes by the house, however, could not be fooled by the layers of furs cloaking most of her face. When he saw the rider pull up to the rickety front gate, a wide grin split his face. He chuckled at the little puzzled faces suddenly halting their game and watching the newcomer keenly. “Come on, kids. Who do you think’s sitting on that pony watching all of you?”

A moment passed before Teagan giggled and lifted his hand to wave. “It’s Aunt Cori, of course!”

That set the floodwaters loose. A high-pitched chorus of “Auntie Cori!” that was like ecstasy to the ears followed, acting as the battle cry for the charging fauntlings racing each other down the hill. Cori slipped out of the saddle just in time to catch the winners, Teagan and Dugon’s oldest, Poppy. In a bundle of laughter and suppressed tears, she rolled to the snowy ground only to have the rest of them clamber on top of her, all excitably chanting how much they missed her.

“Where did you go this time, Aunt Cori?”

“Did you see any elves again?”

“Did you bring us presents?”

“Why don’t you ever write?”

“All right, you little beans. Up you get, all of you.” One by one, Dennon pried the chattering balls of energy off his daughter, setting them on their feet and brushing the snow from their pink skin. “Your mothers will have my hide if you get the sniffles. Now, hurry on inside and tell everyone who’s here. Wipe your feet on the mat before you go in.”

Three of the children “helped” Cori to her feet before rushing off after their siblings and cousins, yelling something about a peach pie Grammy just made. When he finished watching them, Dennon turned back around to face her, his eyes immediately darting from the braids in her hair to her feet covered in furry boots. This was his routine every time she came home, always sure it would be the one time he found her bruised and bloodied with tattered rags for clothes hanging off her body. The well-kept state she presented to him seemed to placate him, and he released a heavy sigh before smiling with joy and relief into her face. “I told you not to grow up without me.”

She giggled, tentatively stepping forward. He would have none of it, wrapping his arms tightly around her back and pulling her against his chest where, from the day she was born, nothing had been able to harm her. With her nose pressed to the crook of his neck, she inhaled the pipeweed scent that clung to him like a second skin. It drew her back to the early days, when she was no older than those rascals still bouncing around the door as they tried to get the snow out of their feet hair. She sat on his knee as the adults chatted in the parlor; she sat on his shoulders as they came in from the field for supper. The scent was always there every time she ran to him crying about one thing or another. It was different on him than anyone else. “How’ve you been, Papa?”

She was not meant to see him brush a finger over his cheek when it was wet as he pulled away from her, so she said nothing. He reached around her to take Shadow’s abandoned reins, leading her with the other hand on the small of her back as they continued down the walkway toward the barn at the bottom of their hill. “Right as rain, for the most part, though we had a bit of a stumble a few months back. Autumn was dry, so the shed went up like kindling. Lost quite a bit of corn, but the harvest was good, so we’re standing on solid ground. No sickness, thank the Giver. We had a great many babies born last year, more than usual; flowers bloomed brighter than a summer sunset the year before, so every young hobbit go to work on their matchmaking. Your brother’s getting married, finally. A year younger than you, and it took him this long to find his mate. Pretty lass, a couple years younger than him. From the Took clan, I believe. Wedding won’t be until she’s come of age, but I’m not entirely sure we can keep them separated for that long. He’s got these great big mooning eyes for her every time she comes around. Maybe you could talk some sense in him; he gives you an ear.”

Cori listened to her father prattle on as they unsaddled Shadow and set him out into the field with the plow ponies. He went from one random topic to a completely different category in the blink of an eye, but she harkened to every word intently. She counted with him every blessing he recalled between then and the time of her last visit, consoled him for every hardship no matter how menial they seemed to her, and committed them all to memory. Did she not owe him that for his loyalty despite what the rest of his family thought?

They gathered up her bags and decided to return to the house just as the snow picked up again. His chitchat stalled right before then, and Cori had the wits to know he had not simply run out of air or words. His smile had dimmed. “Something wrong, Papa?”

He shrugged after tossing one of her bags over his shoulder. “Nothing with me, no. I was just wondering what’s brought you here in the middle of winter. You usually show up around the first snowfall.”

 _When you do,_ she finished what he would not. “My travels took me far this year. It’s taken me a while to get back.”

“Is the weather bad?” he continued. “Is that why you came?”

He did not know what his questions were actually doing to her, and he meant nothing by it. But the guilt gnawed harder and harder with each inquiry. Had she come to the point where her family concluded that seeing them was not good enough reason for her to stop in? But then, that was not the reason she was here now either. “Winter’s actually scant this year, if you can believe it. Being in faraway places made me long for home. It’s nothing out there like it is here.”

“Hm. Sounds like you could use a good break, then.”

After jogging up the path, they ducked inside the door to avoid the frigid ice pieces that accompanied the flakes. The blast of heat was the first sense of comfort Cori had known since leaving the Prancing Pony, and she let out a breath of contentment as it and the scent of fresh food wafted around her. A force born of acquired muscle memory told her to remove her boots and her coat before she could step on the bright red rug leading from the front door down the hall to the very back of the smial; not a speck of dirt could be found on the floor around the door if she and her siblings wished for dessert. The click of the lock echoed around the house, silencing the voices drifting in from the kitchen/dining area with the smells.

“Dennon, were the children telling the truth? Is she—” Barbarella Houndberry, née Birdlelark, shuffled from the round arch on the left, hands wringing a dish towel. Her grey eyes fell upon the two figures lingering in the entryway, finally settling on the one unwrapping her scarf and slipping her hat from her head. Cori stood with her thumbs looped into her belt, gnawing at her bottom lip.

“Hello, Mother.”

The mannerly hobbit woman adopted the same routine as her husband, scouring the girl from head to toe, though her expression came as more unreadable than his was. She was a mother before anything else, and quite possibly acquired the habit from many years of watching her youngest daughter come home covered in dirt and scratches. At the end of her search, she came back satisfied, and the tips of her lips curled up just slightly. “Hello, wildflower.”

The name had almost been an endearment, if Cori did not know the woman lamented its hidden implication. Either way, Barbarella always spoke it with a hint of fondness.

“I’ll suppose you’re doing well,” the greying brunette continued, taking a step forward. She reached for Cori’s arm, pinching the material of her shirt between her fingers. She had an air of indifference surrounding her, displayed by the overly polite set of her jaw and the tightness around her eyes. The lack of much age to her face concealed any potential bitterness. “Not at the moment, I see. You are soaked and freezing.”

Cori could deal with enmity or vice versa, but it was this middle ground of impassiveness her mother stood upon the most that she had trouble finding the appropriate response for. She fought the urge to shuffle her feet. “Quite the storm out there.”

“Yes, it’s been a whiter winter here than we’ve had in ages. Come. I’ve just pulled cinnamon bread from the oven.” She turned with a flutter of her skirts and padded back into the kitchen where the chatter of adults and children alike had resumed.

Cori hung up the remainder of her outer clothing on the nearly full rack to drip dry, exchanging a relieved smile with her father: they just passed the most taxing obstacle back into the house. But, if she knew whose children she greeted outside, she knew she was far from finding the edge of the woods.

As soon as she came into the kitchen where the smell of food was strongest, a swarm of tottering faunts wound around her legs, grabbing onto every loose piece of clothing they could find. “Grammy made cottage pie,” five-year-old Poppy announced from her right hip. “Except with the hares Papa caught the other day. There aren’t many animals out now, though. Not until spring.”

Barbarella did manage a good cottage pie, especially with the right ingredients when everything was readily available. Cori could copy the recipe somewhat, though the lack of tools kept her from practicing anything that could not roast over an open fire. She was eager for a taste of her ten-year-old self’s favorite. She was pulled into the dining room by two hands gripping her own. “Mama,” Marigold called at her left hand, “Mama, look who’s home!”

Standing by the table, setting a pitcher of something into the middle of it, was the firstborn of Dennon and Barbarella, Margow. The young woman bore a striking resemblance to their mother and her side of the family, right down to the incessant look of disapproval on her round face. Of course, she was subjected to sitting back and watching her little sister scream her way through a rebellious phase that ended with the girl, hardly in her tweens, taking off into the wide blue yonder without a single hint of where she was going. That inevitably left a spot on their relationship which had thrived up until that point. Cori had since taken responsibility for that, but Margow chose to sit on her disdain until Cori relinquished her traveling and came home. Neither seemed to be on the horizon, so Cori just let things be as they were.

Margow took a breath, hitching a hand on her hip with a tiny smile clearly for her daughter’s sake. “I see, Mari. Why don’t you go grab another plate, yeah?”

As Marigold and Poppy trotted off to the kitchen, Cori succumbed to the tension in the room and managed only a weak grin.

“You look grown up,” Margow commented. “Hard to believe you just came of age the last time we saw you.”

Cori shrugged. “A lot’s happened since then.” A large palm fell on top of her head, gripping her curls and jerking a bit. She ducked out from beneath the familiar treatment, casting a pout over her shoulder.

“Had the courtesy to let us celebrate with you, at least,” Dugon, the second child, commented with the chiding grin he adopted for his rambunctious younger siblings. There were fewer harsh feelings with Dugon, as he never took her leaving as a personal affront, but he never let her leave the Shire without reminding her of his displeasure for her frolicking. His words. “You’re doing quite well for yourself, I see,” he said, examining the fur trimming to her vest and the leather belt around her waist—a quick snatch from Erebor’s market on her way out. “Your stitching’s splendid. Never thought you capable of sitting still long enough to thread a needle, let alone make yourself a jacket.”

“Hey, now,” she warned with absolutely no denial whatsoever.

Soon, Barbarella brought out the pie along with Cori’s brother- and sister-in-law, and the children were seated at their own table with their servings, a sharp eye turned to them at all times. Even for January, the spread of food before them was quite copious. A light winter and a good harvest prior made for pleasant winters there. They all dug in with vigor, almost entirely silent in their concentration, and Cori made the most of it. This was where her “spice witchcraft,” as Dwalin so affectionately put it, had been born. Nothing ever imagined by any other race could compare to Shire food. It was somehow richer and more filling than anything she had ever eaten from Men, dwarves, or elves. Hobbits had the touch for certain. Maybe that was why the dwarves took to her additions to their rations well. Finally, when enough had been swallowed whole that they could slow down enough to chew, Cori decided to end the silence.

“How is everyone?” she asked, leaving the question open to interpretation. News was what she was after, and it hardly mattered the subject.

“She knows about Garth,” Dennon announced, steering the conversation in the direction she wanted.

“Just had to be a Took,” Margow murmured, though her tone was free of any malice. The peculiar family was the butt of jokes all throughout the Shire, much of their reputation well deserved. They enjoyed it, too. “The lass has had a good upbringing, I’ll give her that. Not too terrible to look at.”

“Oh, now you’re just being fussy, sis,” Dugon replied, taking the piece of meat off the fork he waved around at her. “Our little brother’s a lucky lad.”

“Chrys?” Cori urged, wondering about the one sister not present.

“Sitting at home, full to bursting.”

Cori almost choked. “She was pregnant the last time I was here. Did that one even come out?”

Dennon snorted. “She’s keen on as many as she can handle, and Orlo’s not going to refuse her.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Cori caught Dugon and his wife, Ivy, casting sly looks at each other, and she suppressed a groan. “You, too?”

Dennon’s face widened with a proud smile. “Things have been good here, sweetheart. Each planting season has flourished more than the last, and we’ve got more than we know what to do with. Certainly a time to be alive, and create new life. You’re missing out.”

She hummed in agreement. “I’d say so.” What was the point of having her own children at this point when she was swamped as it is with the little army constantly being made for her? Seemed a little excessive.

“Winter hasn’t done you good,” Barbarella finally spoke up, surreptitiously eyeing the plate of buns sitting directly in front of Cori as if the girl had not noticed it nor made plans to clean it of every crumb. Her initial instinct of going about that, which involved picking up the plate and giving it a good lick, may not be welcomed; her table manners disappeared when she took to traveling with dwarves, even those of a royal line.

“Animals are scarce, so furs and meat are scarce. No furs, no money to buy food.”

“I was under the impression you bedded down somewhere when the weather turned,” Dugon said.

“Usually I do.” _Sometimes in a far corner of the Shire where word of me won’t reach you._ “This season had other plans.”

“Yeah?”

The invitation was clear. While Dugon may have had a little more curiosity about the world ever since Cori set out into it, she doubted the others cared much for what she got into. But no one objected to listening in, so she decided to oblige him. “As I told Papa, my business took me to farther lands than I typically frequent. Across the Misty Mountains, in fact.”

Barbarella’s eyes widened.

“Far into the east, there are colonies of dwarves, much less populated than the Blue Mountains but in a lot of ways more prosperous. I’ve been there before and made decent coin; dwarves, they love their fur. I had no plans to stay there over the winter, so when my business was done, I started back west. On the way, I…stumbled across somebody in need.” Best not to mention it was on a battlefield littered with dead orcs. “He turned out to be a prince of Erebor.”

As she expected, that seemed to perk a few ears. “Erebor?” Dennon repeated. “That’s where that Bilbo Baggins from Hobbiton got off to about two years ago.”

“The very same. The prince happened to be a friend of his, in fact. I returned him to his home and had a special welcome into the city for it.”

Dugon’s jaw hung low. “You mean you met…”

“The king? Yes.”

The murmurings around the table were barely drowned out by the children’s chatter nearby.

“I feel I’d bore you with the details that follow,” _or scare the living daylights out of you,_ “so I’ll just say that I was awarded an escort back west by the king, the princes, and a company of his best guards. They have matters to attend to in Ered Luin.”

Oh, there could not have been a more deafening silence than the one that followed. She ducked her head and pretended to focus on her food as the rest of her family chose a spot around the room to focus on and consider her news. All she had to do was wait, and the shouting would inevitably start.

She was caught off guard when Barbarella led the interrogation, unnervingly calm yet faintly pale. “You…kept the company of dwarves?”

Most surprising of all was Cori’s first instinct in response to the lilt in her mother’s voice at the last word. She was about to defend them. What a momentous day this was. “Yes. But, as I said, they are royals, and a most respectable lot.” They would get a kick out of hearing her say that.

Her insistence seemed to do very little, of course. Sifting a nervous fork through her dinner, Ivy spoke, “I’ve often heard that dwarves—”

“I can assure you, without a doubt, that most of what you hear of dwarves is false,” she fired back, exhausted of hearing the dwarves accused of misconceptions that would be solved if somebody spent more than five minutes at a time with them. At least her initial prejudices were based off of observation and not the grapevine.

“And you’ve left them?” Margow inquired, cautious of the answer.

“For now. Though, as the spring fur season starts, I’ll have to head for the Blue Mountains. We may yet meet again.” She was still deciding whether or not she should put some influence into that. Traveling alone cleared her head of its haze of anger. She should not let one dwarf keep her from seeing her friends.

“Have you promised them anything?” Barbarella asked with the same disturbing composure.

“What?”

With all the decorum of a respectable hobbit lady, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “We’ve sold to dwarves before, Cori. We know how they are with business transactions. In order to secure safe passage with them, you had to make a deal. They never do something without asking for payment. What was it?”

 _You’ve got to be kidding me._ The woman closed off her ears to anything she had already predetermined. “They were paying a debt to me for saving their prince. They asked me for nothing. And so you’re aware, Mother, they are capable of kindness.” Though, it seems, some were regretting that when she left. She hoped that did not damper trade relationships with the hobbits, for dwarves could be so stubborn. _At least that one._

“It is an endless loop,” Barbarella sniffed, picking at her food. “They will say you owe them for this, repay that debt to you, then call on another favor once again. Dwarves are masters at getting what they want out of others. Eventually, it will be something other than money. Be careful, Cori, dealing with dwarves.”

Her fork clattered to her plate, causing the others in the room to startle and stare. She dropped her head to her hands, finding little solace in their warmth as anger bubbled red hot in her face. She had to breathe, count to ten and then again, or she would scream out something she sorely regretted. When the fog in her mind cleared just enough to see, she lifted her head and scowled across the table. “Until you meet them, _Mother._ Until you’ve wandered their halls and spoken with their families and their younger ones, you forfeit the right to express any judgment about them. It’s no wonder they react so coldly to you, as it seems they get only that in return.”

The chair scraped harshly away from the table, allowing the older woman to stomp around it and out into another room, her steps fading quickly. She completely ignored the boy standing in the doorway, leaving him staring after her in confusion. Cori could hardly feel the elation upon seeing him. Frustration sank deep into her stomach and made her whole body ache.

“Hello, Garth,” Dennon greeted, sitting back down where he had risen to go after his wife but thought better of it in the end.

The shaggy-haired boy held up both hands. “Don’t think I need an explanation. _This_ says enough.” He jabbed a finger toward Cori in emphasis, the devilish little quirk of his lips brightening up the room from the bleak state it had suddenly descended to.

For a moment, as her gangly brother wrapped his arms around her shoulders and squeezed with all his might, Cori found a reason not to regret coming. But then she focused on how tired she was of this game, spinning around and around like a group of girls chanting a rhyme. Last time had been especially bad, driving her away for a full three years, causing her to miss Garthor’s coming of age. None of this was new. So why did it feel so fresh?

“Cori.” Margow was soft, yet her tone implied a scolding was underway, as if she had any authority to treat her like a child. “Ma’s scared for you, you know that.”

“And she uses it to make me feel guilty.” She pulled Garth into the empty seat beside her, returning to her pie with hardly any appetite to make it seem as if she was enjoying it again.

Dennon leaned forward a bit. “I believe you were out of line, Cori.”

“It’s about time she learned the truth instead of buying into everything the rumors say. Suspicion leaves you vulnerable when you need help the most.”

Dugon’s brow pinched. “What does that mean?”

“Are you talking about the attacks on the dwarves in the Blue Mountains?” Garthor asked.

Cori lifted her hands in the air. “Oh, thank Yavanna, someone’s keeping an ear out.”

“Wait,” Margow interrupted, her tone solid. “Are you involved in that?”

Cori pursed her lips. “The dwarves I traveled with are responding to it, but I’m not directly involved. But this doesn’t just concern the dwarves. The race of Men are also victims.”

“Are you suggesting that…” Ivy began timidly, her hand sliding across the table to her husband’s.

“That you might be in trouble? It’s why I came here.”

“The Rangers came through not too long ago,” Garthor said around his bite of bread. “And plenty of them.”

 _The Rangers will save us all, apparently._ “And when they, mortal men, are cut down? What’ll you do, then?”

“We are prepared, Cori,” Dugon insisted, taking a large gulp of his ale. “Once the Horn blows, we will take up arms as we have in the past.”

“And defeat them when the Rangers couldn’t? No, you need to do more than set up a defensive. You need to rally the Shire from here to Michel Delving. Buckland can do nothing on its own against this force, trust me. It will take an army of hobbits to push them back.”

“And is this force coming now?” Dugon asked.

“I don’t know, which is the most dangerous answer I could have.” How much more could she say that would make them understand?

“We won’t incite a battle we don’t need to be in,” Dennon said with finality. “There’s no sense in marching when we have no clue what we’re going up against.”

Cori slammed a hand onto the table. “Buckland is best prepared for war. It should take up the responsibility of making sure the rest of the Shire can manage as well. Training anybody who is willing will prevent unnecessary costs.”

“And how will we find the willing without inciting mass panic?” Dennon snapped at her for the first time in many years. “That’s an incredible undertaking, and we’re just coming out of winter. Most hobbits will be focused on spring planting.”

“Most hobbits will be dead if you don’t act!” Giving no one the time to speak up, she marched out of the room and to the front door. The blizzard outside was all that could cool her down now.

The twilight was brightened somewhat by the fresh blanket of snow on the ground. Shadow eagerly awaited a bite of hay before bed, so she sat on the fence next to the barn and watched him crunch on the pile with the other two plow ponies.

It was high time she gave up entirely. This place presented more trouble than it was worth. She cared for something she could never have again, and what had it gained her? Headache, heartache, and a life destined for solitude. Why did she try?

She stared out across the darkening hills, rolling waves of white, or green in the summer, it was all the same. It was home. It was what had made her who she was, and she would never resent that. She was proud to be of Buckland, for what did she have left without her identity? She would die for this place because, in all her travels, she had found nothing like it in Middle-earth. And her family, that obstinate lot in that house twiddling their thumbs under a true threat they were more than capable of rising up against, would always be at the front of her mind. They loved her, and she still loved them. For the sake of the survival of that love, it was best that she stay away. So long as she was not here to mess things up, the estrangement could not grow worse.

The rest of her life was looking more lonely by the day.

She almost sprouted wings and flew off the fence when feet crunched in the snow behind her. Then the wood pole she sat on shook, and she no longer sat alone. “I won’t be told how to live my life, Garth. Not by her.”

The warm body next to her shifted, turning in to face her. “What was it this time?”

“She knows nothing about anything, but she still tries to convince me that I’m making a mistake. That I need guidance. Of the two of us, who would survive the longest if forced out into the wilderness, hm? She couldn’t defend herself against coyotes, and they’re the least of your problems out there. I’m trying to reason with her, but she just _won’t listen._ ”

“I’m pretty sure you’re just hot-tempered.”

She huffed. “Yeah, that, too. Oh, Papa…Those aren’t the first words I’ve said in anger this week.”

“Don’t tell me you’re fighting with dwarves now. Very unwise.”

“Oh, yes. Sparring with them like a warrior of old. I haven’t won yet, just so you know.”

“You can’t reason with someone if you’re blind mad, whether it’s Ma or anyone you’re trying to convince. Who’s going to listen to a raving woman who can’t speak below a shout over the calm one?”

“I’m always calm, when I start out. That never gets through, so I push, and she retreats. It’s the same cycle, over and over and over. I’m so dizzy, Garth, I can’t even remember what my point was in the first place. It’s ingenious on her part, I must admit.”

He snorted. “She just doesn’t understand you. Honestly, I don’t think she ever has. You’ve got a head for the extraordinary, while she’s content with the simple and wondering why no one else feels the same. You’ve baffled everyone since we were little. It was only a matter of time before you took off.”

“Why is it so mystifying for someone to want something and follow it? You don’t see everyone going around doing what they hate. Pa likes watching the plants grow; no one expects him to take up carpentry anytime soon. Why are my actions questioned when I’m doing what everyone else is doing, just in an unfamiliar way?”

His sigh misted in a thick cloud in front of their faces, and he reached over to grab her hand. “The unknown is scary to most, Cori. When someone doesn’t find it all that terrifying, _they_ become part of the unknown. It’s just not done, you leaving the Shire for good the way you did. But that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be done.”

She grinned just a little. Garthor had always been a little wild at heart himself. Little wonder he found favor in the eyes of a Took.

“I wouldn’t mind taking off with you to see these dwarves of yours. A king, Cori. I’d very much like to say I’ve walked with kings.”

“No, no, no. If I can’t live here, I’m going to have to live vicariously through you. Starting with marrying a pretty face. What’s this I hear about a lucky lass good enough for my little brother?”

His cheeks burned bright red. “Basil. Beautiful golden hair, and the smallest hands. I saw her at Midsummers’ Eve, dancing in the sunset. I knew she would turn her nose up at me if I tried to approach her, but I did anyway and gave her heather. She spent the rest of the festival with me, and bid me to call on her again.”

She gave him a little punch to the arm. “And, of course you did, you homely sap.”

He rolled his eyes. “Getting married and having children isn’t all that bad.”

“I’m sure you and Basil are just the match. If that’s something you want, you should go after it. But I’ve made my choice, and I can’t go back.”

“You can always go back. You don’t have to live a life here through me. What would it matter if a few narrow-minded busybodies had a thing or two to say about you? If you can tell Ma ‘no,’ I don’t see why you can’t stick it to the others.”

She chortled. “How very right you are. But it’s not others that I’m so concerned with anymore. The road is in my blood, just as you claim farming is in yours. The magic’s gone, and now I have to go find it again. It’s not here, Garth. I promise.”

He glared toward the ground with sudden displeasure. “It’s not fair.”

She lay her head on his shoulder. “Nothing is, kid. Not even out there. I don’t think there’s such a thing anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No dwarves this chapter. Sorry. But you do get a look into Cori's backstory just a bit. What do you think of her crazy family?
> 
> Now that I've introduced her family, I might post a bit of a biography in "The Life of Hobbits." Just a little something to help you all get to know her better.


	13. Heart for Trouble

After deciding that she would indisputably get nowhere with her family concerning the threats circling the Shire like wolves (or possibly in the form of wolves), Cori sought out a better solution that, in her initial understanding and resolute hopefulness, would see things happened before the inevitable consequences. On the following sunny morning, Cori left Shadow to rest in the field with his new friends and took a small walk down the road to Brandy Hall. Predictably, those that joined her out in the calf-deep snow blanketed Buckleberry consisted majorly of children playing and ignoring her. However, a few adults stood watch over their young ones, and they did not miss a new development in their home.

Her returns home hardly ever lasted long, but it never failed that _someone_ would see her. The fire spread madly after that, and by the time she left, every town all the way up and down the Brandywine knew she had stopped in. In the early years, when she spaced her visits closer together, she could tell that her family had had a rough time with the whispers, particularly by the cold shoulder she received. When she started showing up less frequently, by the time she was back, they had all but forgotten any grief at the hands of their neighbors. Reason one out of a depressing number for her to keep her distance. The cycle would continue this time, she knew, and what repercussions would come of her demanding time with the Master of Buckland were out of her reach. With her blood still hot after her altercation at the dinner table the night before, she had few laments anyway.

Despite January being the slowest month on the calendar, as it was the intermittent time between Yule and spring planting, the Master was apparently very busy at the time she arrived.

“It’s urgent,” she told the assistant standing guard at the door to his study, probably a relative.

“How urgent?” The young girl did not seem to recognize her, so she probably handled all potential visitors with this much patronization. Unfortunately, she was probably as chatty as any other hobbit around, which gave her caution about spewing conspiracy.

“Very, in my book, but I guess the real answer’ll be left up to the Master.”

“He is not to be disturbed unless on account of an emergency.”

_Cast me into the fiery pits of Mordor._

And that was how the encounter with the pesky, insistent secretary continued for several minutes until the Master finally answered to the tiff happening right outside his door. After deftly informing him that the break he had taken in his work would afford her just enough to plea her reason for being there, he decided to listen.

She barely got passed the first two sentences before she realized she lost him. Oh, he understood perfectly. Anything more she had to say just was not worth his attention, whether or not he actually had important matters to return to.

“I don’t see a reason to make war unnecessarily.”

If she were honest with herself, that should have been expected.

And she probably did not need to leave the room with the choice word she barked at him, but it felt essential. And asked for. The world needed to know just how pissed she really was.

On her vigorous walk back toward the edge of town, she steamed. One thing that Buckland did right that could not be said for the rest of the Shire was the lack of naivety concerning the world beyond their borders. That did not exempt them from downplaying the danger. They may have decided to acknowledge that there were things ready to encroach on them at any time, but that did not give them the wisdom to know exactly how to deal with it. They knew how to keep to themselves, so they would do just that until it was no longer an option. It was an open invitation to anyone that saw worth in these lands (which, to orcs, would just be the chaos of the invasion). They were on the right track, just reluctant to go any farther. And the steps they missed out on were the most important.

So much for the claim of progressiveness they flaunted.

As she walked along, as her temper cooling with the chilly air and her path drawing closer to her parent’s house, she looked around at her old home. The quaint smials and barns, the smell of elevensies in the air, the pipe smoke drifting up above every adult watching of their children It was…nice. Tranquil, satisfying. Why did none of this agree with her? What made her take off into the wilderness? The charms of this place were right in front of her, unobstructed by her tween mind.

She wondered how things would have turned out differently had she not taken off. She would no longer be living in her parent’s smial, she assumed, having moved into her and her husband’s abode. She would be with child, wiling her days away in her beloved garden and knitting footies for her new little one. She would look forward to market days where she could finally garner an excuse to leave the house and indulge in some fresh air. Peace, plenty, family. There could be worse things to be surrounded by.

Like wild animals, cold winter nights, and the hard, frozen ground. The regular clenching of an empty stomach. The softness of a pudgy waist replaced by strong, toned curves. Danger and death. Who could fault the hobbits for wanting to stay clear of such things? They were the things of adventures, and she has been so blind to think that her escape from here would actually bring her closure. But her words to Garthor rang true. She did not want to settle down here; in fact, she did not know what it was she was looking for. She knew one thing was true: it did not feel like her choice to stay or leave.

When she slipped back into the house and out of her boots, she hurried into the parlor to seek out the fireplace. She stopped halfway into the room, heart jumping just a little. Barbarella sat in the armchair by the hearth with an unopened book on her lap. The older woman stared into the flames, looking much like her age with the light bouncing off the creases in her skin. Her eyes did not see the fire, though, the images that lay behind her eyes taking her somewhere completely different. Cori pushed down the uneasiness from the reminder of her mind’s creation of this room (and who sat in her mother’s place) and approached the chair.

As much as her pride demanded she do nothing, she had to be the bigger person and make the effort.

Barbarella awoke from her stupor when Cori sat down on the floor next to her legs and picked up the poker to prod at the fire. As she scraped at the cinders and placed a new log into the flames, a hand lay on her head, causing her breath to hitch. “My precious wildflower,” her mother whispered, the calluses of her fingers gliding over her scalp.

That was what Barbarella wanted to see. The little lass with thick, soft curls and a sketch pad on her lap as she copied the trees and the animals down onto paper. Her ruddy cheeks would be smudged with dirt from her attempts at helping in the fields, and so would her dress, but that mattered little because she was here. She was home. If she could get Barbarella to think that way, maybe then she would not try to bring back something that was already there. Had always been there. Because that same little girl sat before her.

“Won’t you see the pain of an aging mother wishing only to have her baby close and safe?” Barbarella whispered.

A thought that outlandish could never be true, of course. “I would be miserable,” Cori admitted, subconsciously leaning into the gentle touch in her hair. “Can’t _you_ see that?”

“But you would be safe.”

“I’ve made a difference, Mama,” she whispered, grasping for the silver lining somewhere. “I’ve learned valuable skills that I use to make good money, to give people clothing and blankets for cold winters. I’ve saved lives. People would be dead, and their families would be mourning them right now if I didn’t choose the life I have. I wish you would see what kind of good I’m doing. I want you to be proud of me.”

If she could just turn around and see the woman’s face. But the silence was not meaningless, and she feared that whatever conclusions Barbarella was forming would be altered if she made any movements. She let the fire and their breathing be the only sounds to disrupt the hush of the room, waiting as patiently as she could with a pounding heart. Barbarella had not immediately shut her down, indicating that she was trying. She wanted to wrap her head around the idea and accept who her daughter had become with as much grace as possible. Deep down, they both knew that would never happen. But she loved her Coronilla so very much. If only it was enough. “If it is these dwarves that will keep my daughter from me, they are welcome to their disputes.”

She clenched her jaw. Barbarella Houndberry, née Birdlelark, was many things in her life. Above all, she was a good mother, something she wanted and hoped to be since the thought of marriage ever entered her mind. The many lessons she instilled in her children were of compassion and sympathy for those in need. Twofaced was not a description Cori ever thought she would need to use to describe this respectable woman, but the word slipped into her mind and churned her blood with the reality of its truth. All hope crashed to the ground like broken pottery. Yanking her head out from beneath the hand covering it, she stood over the sitting woman. “It is not, Mother. I do not have room for your bitterness in my life. Even these dwarves I traveled with would not curse you as you just did them. In wishing for my safety, you would cast misfortune on others? I thought you above such things. I thought you had a heart, at the very least.” Blinking away the tears stinging behind her eyes, she turned and marched from the room, her ears closed to the soft sobs she left behind. The memories attached to that chair were now tainted further. Just one more thing in her damned life to turn upside down.

She needed an outlet before something that she regretted leapt from her mouth. And what better way to relieve stress was there than making weapons? So, with the fire crackling in her room, she sank onto the floor with her bow and quiver. After half an hour of trimming feathers and rubbing the arms of her bow even when all the dirt had lifted from the grooves, the thumping in her head had ceased significantly. When she made a small pile of new arrows to replace her old, brittle ones, a new presence slipped quietly into the room. Had she not grown up around hobbits, she definitely would not have heard the minute shuffling.

“I didn’t do anything,” she murmured.

“That was your mantra when you were little,” Dennon chuckled, lowering himself beside her with a distinct pop in his knees. His eyes watched her for a moment, quietly taking in her steady hand dragging the small blade over the edge of the feather. He picked up one of the arrows from her pile, studying the sparrow feather she most often used. “These are good. You’ve come a long way.”

“Think Grandpa Cornelius would’ve been proud?”

He grinned, laying a hand on her knee. “If he was anything like I’ve been told, he would be your greatest admirer. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d tagged along with you on all your adventures.”

She felt the bubbles of giddiness in her stomach. Far on down the trunk of the Houndberry tree was Cornelius Houndberry. Ever since she first heard stories about his boldness and influence amongst the heads of Buckland despite only gaining a bit of coin later in his life, she had been utterly fascinated.

“Of course, I’m not entirely sure Grandpa Cornelius represented a model citizen at all times, despite what he did for Buckland. I hear he was a bit of a troublemaker.”

“And what kind of trouble could he have possibly gotten into with Grandpa Cecil breathing down his neck all the time?” Cornelius Houndberry had been the exact opposite of his father in almost every way.

"He and his gang of hooligans found their way into the Brandybuck vineyard one time. Sampled much of the wine aging in their cellars. Some of it had been in there for a long time, so naturally, they made quite the scene when they headed out the next morning, right in front of the head overseer. And that was before he came of age. With his own place and his own money, he and his following took off after the Master and his consultants, hoping to spur some revolution that would bring about a change for those with fewer resources. See, the Houndberrys have always been a little pinched on money; even Cornelius’s prosperity lasted only two generations, thanks to his grandson’s consumptiveness. Of course, out of the house, Cecil wasn’t able to control the boy with all his ideals floating around in his head. Sounds quite familiar.”

Cori smirked. “You don’t make a name that’ll live on down in history doing what everyone else is.”

He quirked a brow. “And why would doing that be any concern to you?”

She pursed her lips and turned her attention back to her arrow. That really was not the case for her. She just saw fit to agree with the idea. “I didn’t really look for his life story. What was the point of all that?”

“You’d reckon Cornelius was a good man, right?”

“I mean, he accomplished what he set out for. I’m sure we’d be worse off than we ever were if he didn’t make the step to help out the little guy. He gave a boost to those of us closer to the bottom.”

“You’re right. He cared for people. But the way he went about doing it can’t necessarily be condoned, can it? He stole from the gardens owned by the Master’s consultants and gave it to the needy. He encouraged chaos in order to push the higher-ups to do something. He helped, but he did not take the peaceable route. He was a hobbit of action, right to the very end.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m still missing the point.”

“You’re helping people, as you told us at the dinner table last night and as you just told your mother. You saved the life of that dwarf prince, and it brings me great joy to know that your thoughtfulness has made such an impact. Don’t ever lose that. But are you really doing the same elsewhere? Are you really helping in _all_ places, not just _out there_?”

She felt her chest clench. While she could have pushed against him with the logic of “not entirely helping the needy,” she knew what his implication was. But apparently, he saw her in the parlor. What did he think she was doing in there in the first place? “I’ve given back, Pa. I send money when I can. I’ve done my share of explaining to her what this is all about, but I can’t carry the whole load.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

“Then why haven’t I gotten any acknowledgement for what I _have_ done? Why can’t she see why I did, _do_ , anything?” 

“She doesn’t know, Cori.”

“Know what? That I’m not dirt poor out there and that those random furs with vending instructions that show up aren’t gifts directly from Yavanna? I’m certain she could read my signature.”

A short breath puffed from his nose. “She doesn’t know what you did for Garth.”

Her fingers paused, just shy of cutting the feather wrong. There was no way he could have found out about that, but it seemed he had. “I didn’t know you did.”

“You did what any big sister would do, and for that reason, it doesn’t shock me that you would take such a leap for strangers. But I haven’t told your mother. She is under the impression that you took off in a rebellious fit.”

“That’s not entirely false.” He did not know the full truth, what exact lengths she went to make that happen. This conversation would sound much different if he had. He had no plans to share the source of his information, and she had none to elaborate. “And she’s better off not knowing about that, trust me. She probably already thinks I’m doing shady deals all over the place. Heh! To her, dealing with dwarves is as shady as you get.”

He chuckled. “All the same, I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing, sweetheart. Even if we don’t.”

She placed her hand on his where it had yet to lift up from her knee. “I do, Papa. I may not have my life entirely figured out, but I know how to keep it from ending. I’ll be fine.”

“You going back to those dwarves?”

“I thought that was already discussed.”

“You talked an awful lot about them. And quite fondly, I must say. I don’t suspect you’ll leave a future meeting with them to chance.”

She rolled her eyes. Her transparency was starting to grate at her nerves these days. “I need to go where they’re headed to. There was an orphan. At least, I hope she’s not an orphan. She’d fallen into the hands of orcs and managed to end up as far east as Erebor. I kinda…promised her I would see if her parents are alive. She’s such a young thing, near Teagan’s age. And dwarves live a lot longer than hobbits. That’s a long time not knowing what happened to your parents. I also didn’t really say goodbye to them. I want to; I don’t know when I’d ever get to see them again.”

He cast a knowing smile toward her, entirely aware that “fondly” was the correct word to use. And she had to concede. She had already sustained boredom after only four days. “Just don’t go lunging toward anything dangerous now. No reason to involve yourself in anything beyond your own business.”

“And here I was thinking you’d gone and found the value in a bit of trouble,” she said not unkindly. “I’ll tell you what. It keeps things pretty interesting.”

He huffed a small laugh. “I suppose I can’t stop you then, no matter how much I want to.”

Cori grinned, leaning over to lay her head on his shoulder and clutch his arm between her hands. He took a great leap, essentially giving her as much support as she had ever gotten. His confession pushed aside everything he felt as a protective father and gave her his blessing to find her happiness. What could she possibly do to show him her appreciation? She could only think to prove to him that her happiness was exactly where her path led. While she had yet to find that out, it gave her an added nudge to seek it rather than wait to find it. But which direction should she take?

Something told her Durmark. Maybe it was just the fulfillment of seeing that Enna would not suffer the remainder of her life with the last memories of her parents tainted by the filth of this world. Or was she just destined to roam until she could do it no longer? She was desperate for an answer, and she would follow any lead she could acquire.

                     ***************************

Cori never meant to stay past a day more. No reason to hang around doing nothing for so long. What convinced her to stay was the massive herd of faunts that called her “Auntie Cori” every time they saw her. She could not say when she would be back again; her mother’s response left little for negotiation, unless she wanted to be petty and sneak in and out without seeing the woman. She missed out on so much of the little rascals’ growing up that all of her siblings got to witness with each other’s children. A little more time to establish herself in their memory so they had no reason to forget her hurt no one, did it? The thought of being so negligent that she escaped their young minds permanently made her nauseous.

So she spent three more days running around in the snow with them until it melted. They asked her for small lessons with wooden swords; Teagon had even begun to experiment with a bow. Marigold had taken an interest with it as well, and while her first shot flew a little high, her stance came so naturally that Cori expected her to be taking apples out of trees in no time. Of course, Margow wanted her oldest daughter to learn something a little more useful for daily tasks, so Cori offered to hold a sewing lesson with Marigold and her cousins. When some of the girls began to tease Farlo, the firstborn of her second sister Chrys, for wanting to sit in with them, she put an end to it immediately and firmly. “Everyone goes naked if you don’t learn how to sew.” That earned a giggle around the room. “It’s something everyone should know, like cooking. Uncle Garth knows how to sew.” That statement had to be followed by a demonstration from the hobbit himself, but he had little protest.

Unfortunately, Basil Took was off in Tuckborough spending time with her family before the marriage would call her to Buckland. Cori was excited to meet her. However, while wiling away the day with their children, she had to inadvertently meet with their parents. She could not even remember the last time the six siblings were all together; she left the Shire just as Margow and Featon wed, and her sporadic visits allowed them all little time to plan anything around their own schedules. She managed to make it around to everyone, when she finally set in her mind that she was not leaving the Shire without giving them all a hug. Just as she had been informed, the third oldest, Chrys, was pregnant with her third kid. She had always gravitated toward the children as she grew older, so it was no shocker she was off to a fast start. Maggy, the sibling just above Cori, had her little Cornelia, however, she and her mate Therry ran the town newsletter. The little lass would be enough for now, they said; after all, her parents discovered she was on the way before they even wed, so Cornelia had not necessarily been planned. Nobody was overly nettled to see Cori, if she read their first reactions to her showing up at their doors correctly. They all held the same indifference that Margow showed her. She accepted that that was all she would get; it was better than the initial anger they had when she first left, so she would take it.

If truth be told, she had no idea when to head out for the road. So it was a good thing that the decision was made for her.

The dawn of the fourth day seemed especially hard to greet for Cori. She blamed the many nights lying in a cozy, familiar bed spoiling her. However, after a five-minute debate on whether or not to catch another half hour of sleep, a furious pounding on the door reverberated through the whole house. Now fully awake, Cori threw on her jacket and raced out into the hall. Dennon was already marching from his bedroom, exchanging curious expressions with her. He pulled the door open to a flustered hobbit holding tightly to the lopsided hat on his head. “Perry Dollock. What in Middle-earth constitutes you banging on my door at this hour?”

Finally catching his breath enough to rise from bending at the knee, Perry rattled out, “Trouble. To the south. Word needs to get through the whole Shire. A whole bunch o’ Rangers were spotted moving down toward Sarn Ford not two days ago. They say those creatures making all the fuss up in the mountains are prowling around down there, more of ‘em gatherin’ like a dirty swarm. There’s real trouble.”

“What’s to be done?” Cori demanded, slipping farther out the door.

“Good to see you, Miss Cori,” Perry tipped his head with a wide smile before donning his distressed countenance once again. “Nothing at the moment. We’ve just been told to warn the countryside.”

“Make sure everybody knows to be ready for the sounding of the Horn if it comes,” she told him.

He nodded. “Yes, miss.” With a final look at Dennon, he continued down the frosty path, lumbering away as fast as he could. Cori had slunk back inside before he even left the yard.

“What are you doing?” Dennon asked as she moved into the sitting room and gathered up all her weapons and gear.

“I know why the orcs are congregating down there.” A certain dwarf king thought to lead his heirs and warriors through country ridden with orcs on the off-chance they managed to make it to Ered Luin without coming across any. After what they witnessed before reaching Bree, she concluded that his stubbornness just would not allow common sense into his mind at times. His presence summoned more orcs to surround the Shire, making an attack more probable than ever. She needed to make sure they were still alive first, then urge them as fast as possible away from the Shire. _If you’re going to draw them in with your imprudence, I’m going to use you as bait._ “I need to be down there yesterday.”

“You’re leaving already?” Stirred by the commotion, Garthor and Barbarella appeared from the back hall. The woman watched her scurry into her bedroom and fly about like a trapped bird while Dennon filled them in.

“There must be a large pack,” she mumbled under her breath. “Damn, those dwarves move fast when they want to.”

“Cori!” Barbarella crashed into the room, grabbing her daughter with both hands by the shoulders. Her grey eyes flashed with acute fear and panic. “You are running straight into trouble! This is real danger! Stop and think!”

“I can’t, Mother! You’re right, this _is_ real danger. Which is why it needs to be addressed immediately before any innocents get hurt.” Thinking was great and all, but under certain circumstances, it could sometimes get a person killed.

Barbarella sank down into one of the chairs, laying her head in her hands. “This is madness.”

“Yes, it is. But that’s what the world’s about.”

The older woman dropped her hands soundly onto her lap, lifting an exasperated expression toward her daughter. “You would risk your life for this? Leave your family behind while you die like some warrior in those old tales?”

“I would,” Cori growled, hitching her bag onto her shoulder after strapping her weapons to her person. “Because those warriors died so others could live. The next time you think of your peace and quiet, Mother, remember that it was paid for at the expense of others.” She ignored the anger and despair from this hobbit crashing into her in waves. She had it so easy here, spoiled with serenity, but all of that could be taken away in the blink of an eye. When would she get that? Never. They were destined to go back and forth until either of them was put back into the ground.

“Be careful,” Dennon murmured to her, pulling her into a tight hug. He wanted to say more, but the words lodged somewhere behind his lips.

“I will.” Leaning down to press her lips to her mother’s crown, she bounded for the door, bags packed, once again. And just like the first time so long ago, Garthor was right behind her.

“I can help you…”

“Garth, please.” She tossed her saddle onto Shadow’s back and pulled the cinch tight. “If I whisked you away on some adventure, Ma would never speak to me again. This isn’t some trip anyway. It is life or death. This is war. The ill-prepared are the first to die, which is why you need to stay here and make sure everyone is ready for anything. Convince the Master, the bounders, anyone who will listen that the whole Shire, not just Buckland, needs to be warned and braced. _That_ is how you’ll help me. Got that?”

His nose twitched and his jaw clenched, but he nodded anyway. He was loyal to her, and she was undeserving of it. She kissed his cheek, pulling him in for a tight hug before jumping onto Shadow’s back. With one last glance toward her family standing by the smial door, she turned her pony onto the road and pushed him toward Buckleberry Ferry. She prayed for the lives of those left in her powder, crying in her heart to Yavanna that her family be spared, even if she was not.

Once they crossed the river, she knew a moment could not be spared. With several days’ rest behind them, Cori gave Shadow loose rein to sprint and canter as he pleased. They took the road along the western bank, cutting through the Marish to reach Willowbottom by the end of the day. She had to stop for the night, asking upon the hospitality of a farmer who had some extra room in the barn for her to stay. Her anxiety would not allow her to sleep, but the rest would see that her little grey could carry her as swiftly as possible to the Greenway.

For a short time, all her worrying proved to be for nothing. Upon reaching the road, she assumed that it was anyone’s guess how far the dwarves had gotten. With the snow entirely melted and the ground dry from days of sun, tracks would be scant. However, after moving south for several hours, she found a large scattering of ponies’ hooves in the dirt. She felt immediate elation, only to have it squelched when she realized they led off the path and into the plains just north of where the Brandywine turned southwest toward the sea and the Blue Mountains. Certainly, with how fresh they were, they had just passed through not too long ago. They could not be too far out. Maybe she could pick up the trail in a few patches of dirt along the way, just enough to get a clear direction. If her tracking skills were not up to searching out lumbering dwarves and their heavy mounts, she should kiss her beloved business goodbye.

Unless it was not them.

_Who else would be riding ponies through here? Certainly not hobbits._

Just one more problem: night fell swiftly in the winter.

“Oh, this was smart,” she murmured to herself as she looked around at the countryside slowly being concealed by dusk. A countryside that was rumored to be crawling with orcs also tracking the dwarves, and she was right about where they would be in keeping their distance as they stalked their prey. “So much for staying out of trouble.” Another sleepless night lay ahead. Or so she thought.

Just as she had dismounted to find some cluster of trees to duck beneath, the distinct rumble of hooves came from the northern end of the road. A small part of her seized for a second, anticipating the heavy paws of wargs barreling straight for her. But the sound was most certainly horse hooves, and around the bend came a group of Men clad in dark green with long swords hanging from their saddles. Rangers of the North. She must have been extremely close to Sarn Ford.

The Rangers pulled their horses to a stop just beside her. Their curious and almost amused faces were comical as they took her in. One stepped forward ahead of the group and grinned down at her. “A long way from home, Miss Hobbit,” he said, tossing his hood back onto his shoulders. “Dangers of the worst kind lurk in these parts, and in droves. Haven’t you heard?”

“I have,” she replied, habitually squaring herself as she tipped her chin up to glare into the man’s face. She spent far too much time under the scrutinizing gazes of those who refused to take her seriously to allow him one more moment of ignorant condescension. After a while, it just became exhausting. “A company of dwarves from the East. Erebor. I’m looking for them. Did they pass through the Ford?”

The Ranger exchanged looks with his companion to his right before nodding. “This morning.”

She breathed a heavy sigh. She was only a day behind them. Now, if they did not choose to gallop the rest of the way to Durmark, she might be able to catch them by a little after noon the next day. Maybe earlier, if she woke soon enough. “I heard of a rise in orc activity in this area. I believe they’re responsible.”

“King Thorin assured us they were prepared and would remain undetected so as not to cause a stir.”

“Well, when have dwarves ever gone anywhere ‘undetected?’”

That pulled a laugh from the group.

“I believe the orcs are targeting them.”

The Ranger nodded. “I imagine so. Whatever the dwarves have done to incur the wrath of the orcs has caused much damage elsewhere. Might you have more to say on the matter, miss?”

She shook her head. “I know just as much as you do. But I can assure you the dwarves didn’t poke the hornet’s nest, as it were. They are victims just as much as everyone else is. I’ll assume they’re going to attract a heap of attention this close to the mountains. I need to catch up with them.”

“Miss Hobbit,” the companion spoke up, “it is very dangerous beyond the Shire’s borders. The Rangers remain on the Greenway. South of that, the orcs are rampant. I wouldn’t recommend straying so far. They seemed efficiently prepared for anything.”

“I know the risk. No matter what you say, I will be rejoining them. However, as you can see, I’m miles away and all by my lonesome just before nightfall. You, my good men, wouldn’t happen to have enough room in your camp for one more tonight, would you?”

The Rangers shared a smile, as if communicating through their eyes only. It worked, as silly as it sounded, because they came to a consensus without a word. “I do believe a halfling would make a very minute dent in our affairs.”

She chuckled. “My good sirs, you should know: hobbits are not half of anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, no dwarves yet. Next chapter will make up for it immensely, I promise. And I'll have it up as quickly as possible. The semester's winding down, so I'll be getting more time to write.
> 
> Give me some criticism, if you have any. :) Constructive or otherwise (the former's preferred XD).


	14. Thrill

They issued the challenge. She just rose up to it.

The Rangers hardly knew what hit them when they offered the hobbit girl as much of their plentiful provisions as she desired. Oh, she was not greedy, nor would she stoop to mooching. However, they were left bewildered, to say the least.

“You’re free to go raid the dwarves’ knapsacks, Miss Hobbit,” the leader of the Rangers told her good-naturedly when they parted ways the following morning. “I don’t suppose ours could hold up after a few nights returning you to the Shire anyway.”

If anything could come of her encounter with the Rangers, it was educating them into a whole new perspective of the creatures they spent so much of their time guarding. It seemed they were past due for a little wake-up call. While closing her eyes to try to get some sleep (which was somewhat lacking now that she was back on the ground with no snores to lull her), she caught a bit of the watch’s conversations murmuring over the fire behind her.

“Persistent, she is,” one of them said with his lips around his pipe.

“Or stupid. Clearly, she has little idea what she’s getting into.”

“I wouldn’t be so hasty. She seems accustomed to making camp. And that sword’s something to look at. Wonder what she’s up to with the dwarves.”

“Can’t say one way or the other, but she’s in a rush to get to them. Didn’t know halflings and dwarves mingled outside of trading wares.”

“Hope she makes it. Gotta admit those hobbits are kind of adorable, in their own way.”

“I don’t have to. But she makes for an amusing picture, that’s for sure.”

“Careful. I don’t doubt she knows how to use that bow. If there’s one thing I know of hobbits, it’s their impeccable skill at long range.”

If they decided she was not worth the fretting, she would not blame them; they had many more things to be concerned with other than a lone hobbit girl. On the other hand, they clearly felt she was capable of taking care of herself, as any of their initial persistence to sway her from her path did not rise in the morning. She kept her thanks for that within her mind as she expressed her gratitude for their hospitality, hoping they went on to learn a little bit more about their charges. As the dwarves liked to iterate, they were worth learning about.

Facing the mountains silhouetted blue in the distance, she urged Shadow into an easy canter which they kept up for most of the day. The sun’s peak in the sky came and went with only a few smatterings of ponies’ hooves in the dirt to let her know she was going in the right direction. Of course, as soon as she had to chase after them, they chose to pick up the pace. And how many complaints had they voiced about wasting time?

As they carried on into the afternoon, however, she realized why. Paws. Large paws with deep holes at the ends of the toes for claws. Wargs. So much for remaining “undetected.”

When the grassland turned into denser forest, she heard it for the first time. A howl. Shadow balked and danced in place, ears trying to swivel in every direction at once. “Easy, fella,” she cooed, which definitely was not just for the pony’s sake. A shiver trickled down her spine as the haunting echo bounced off the trees through the twilight. It had been years ago, probably not too much longer after she started fur trading, but the memory still came up fresh. She recalled sitting in a forest in Dunland outside a dwarf settlement, shivering in her thin blankets on a night quite like this. Howls reverberated across the distant Misty Mountains to the east, driving her pony Dunner into a fit. She fared no better. Then the screams, gnarled and jagged like a fork on a plate. Where there were wargs, their beastly riders were not far behind. That was the first time she ever heard wargs and orcs, and the sound still danced around in her dreams every now and then.

Another howl answered, then a growl shook the earth. They were close, and after something. Heart pounding and every instinct crying for her to turn and run, Cori followed the noise.

Firelight flickered amidst a cluster of trees, casting eerie shadows across the ground. Over the cacophonous chorus of snarls coming from that direction was shouting and the slicing of steel into flesh. Someone’s rage-filled roar rose above the rest, and while she could not tell who it was, it sounded vividly familiar. She grinned. _I should market my tracking skills. Oh, wait. I do._ Dismounting and sending Shadow off, she reached to draw her sword. Her hand paused. She had no business running full tilt into a fight with wargs, let alone the nasty duo combined. No, she thought of a much better idea.

Using the masterfully honed skills from her childhood, she dashed for the nearest tree and pulled herself up into it. Certain that this would be the long-awaited day she finally slipped, she took her time leaping from one to the next. After trotting over a few more branches, she found her footing. She passed through several until she finally stood over the firelit scene.

The dwarves moved in circles around the fire, some of them wielding torches alongside their swords. Surrounding them had to be a little over half a dozen mounted orcs. The dwarves held their own well, but both orc and warg picked on their chosen dwarf at the same time. Of no surprise to her, and to her greatest relief, Fíli and Kíli stood back-to-back, keeping contact with each other nearly the entire time. Their blows were swift and brunt, as were much of the others’. Checking her vantage point, assuring herself that she was too high to be clipped by a claw, Cori pulled her bow from across her chest and nocked an arrow. Time to test out her new handiwork.

With the first shot, the string twanged and hummed. It found its mark in the head of an orc who happened to move directly into its trajectory. He was in the process of charging Kíli, who had to sidestep when the lumbering beast fell face-first. The young dwarf looked up to the trees momentarily, scanning unsuccessfully until his attention was called elsewhere. “Someone’s in the trees!” he yelled out, finishing his sentence off with a grunt as his fist dislocated a warg’s jaw.

“What?” Thorin swiveled nearby, swiping upward to leave a gaping gash across a screaming orc’s chest.

“In the trees! An arrow came down! Someone’s helping us!”

“Or toyin’ with us!” yelled Ion as he swept the legs out from under his foe with his heavy ax. “Cheeky _shekar_!”

Cori cackled to herself from her hiding spot, nocking another arrow which struck the next orc in the chest. Dwalin paused mid-swing when his opponent slumped forward. “Now you’re just showin’ off!” he hollered to the branches, continuing his rampage. Cori clamped a hand over her mouth to avoid giving away her position.

One by one, the abhorrent creatures fell, either by the sword or by the arrow; Cori even managed to get one of their hounds right in the eye, horrified at herself for laughing in triumph. Finally, the campsite was still, cluttered with the foul-smelling bodies. The dwarves surveyed their mess, checking on each other for injuries and cleaning their weapons to catch their breath. All eleven were standing.

Kíli pulled one of the arrows from a body, examining the feather. Familiarity brightened in his eyes when he realized what bird it came from. He looked up into the trees once more. “Cori?”

She laughed loudly, drawing the attention of all the dwarves. “I leave you all alone for a few minutes, and look what happens.” On wobbly, adrenaline-fueled legs, she stepped down on a lower scratchy pine branch to place herself in full view of the campsite. “Just like you, needing a babysitter all the time.”

“Where’d you learn to use a bow like that, lass?” Ion asked, shaking his head fondly at her.

“Take a guess. It wasn’t the Shire.” When a chorus of disgusted groans followed, she giggled, sliding down the tree until her boots finally hit the ground. Immediately, she was swallowed up by a mane of golden hair. “Fíli, my kidneys.”

“Oh, sorry.” He pulled back, still refusing to let his hand drop from her waist. “How did you get here so fast? We thought, if you followed eventually, you wouldn’t find us until we got to Durmark.”

“Never underestimate a professional hunter, lad. Word spread through the Shire of trouble down here. I don’t know if you’ve realized, but you’ve got orcs honing in on you like vultures. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were circling from miles out right now.”

“As if we can’t take care of ourselves,” Dwalin rolled his eyes.

“Aye, but you’ve made quite a predicament for the Rangers looking after the Shire borders. You’ve got the entire place in a ruckus, and rightfully so. It’s only a matter of time before they break through the defense and slip in like rats. The hobbits aren’t nearly prepared enough for a thing like that.”

Kíli glanced toward the ground sheepishly. “Hm.”

“We just need to move away as fast as possible,” she assured him, quite disarmed of any indignation at the penitent frown on his face.

“‘We?’” From behind him, Thorin appeared, in the process of sheathing Orcrist. While he had not taken on the kicked-puppy expression of his nephew, he came to her with slouching shoulders and a long face. The closer he drew, the more cautious his steps became. He looked as truly repentant as a dignified king of the dwarves could be, and she would have to count herself blind if she did not see that in those dashing blues. The truth of the matter was this: she had thought little ill of him for the small slight toward her in the Prancing Pony once her anger cooled. She would call herself absurd for letting slide his raised voice and his misgivings. Positively daft, but what else could describe infatuation so well? But she had seen enough dwarves in taverns to know when alcohol was talking. So long as he did not believe his words.

“I doubt you’ll be able to make it there on your own without running into more trouble, so I don’t think I have a choice.”He grinned, a familiar openness spreading across his face. An expression which she had never seen in the presence of the other dwarves. It was for her. She felt her heart race.

“We need to leave before anymore scouts smell this place out,” he said to them all, glancing around at the ruined campsite.

“So much for supper,” Dwalin murmured as they began to gather their things together.

Then they all stopped, a tense silence descending on the circle. Cori halted in gathering her arrows from the lumps of rotten flesh they were stuck in, perking her ears to the woods surrounding them. Surely they could have a moment of peace to catch their breath before the next wave crashed down on them. “What is it?”

“There’s a, uh, slight problem about moving,” Kíli said slowly, twisting around on the spot in a full circle as his eyes surveyed the darkness around them.

Thorin sighed, laying a palm across his face. “No one happened to see which direction the ponies went, did they?”

No one said a word, glancing around as if they would find the creatures weighing hundreds of pounds had materialized beneath their useless saddles lying on the ground. Cori snorted when Kíli took a quick peek in his bag. “Well, while you all are dealing with that, I think I’ll go find my own. At least I know to put a physical and invisible tether on mine.”

“I’ll come with you,” Fíli jumped in. “To see if there are any signs of the others. And we shouldn’t go off alone.”

Shadow would not have gone far, so she would not have to do the same. It was unnecessary. However, whatever mound of excuses he could come up with, Cori would have accepted his company either way. Yavanna, she missed that boy. “Then we should get a move on.” As the rest of the group grumpily stooped to gather their belongings, the two merged into the obscurity of the forest in the direction Cori had come. As soon as they were out of sight of the camp, she felt his arms wind around her shoulders once more and squeeze. She giggled, slipping hers around his waist.

“I didn’t think we’d see you again. At least, I didn’t think the chance would come up until we reached Ered Luin.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you took Thorin’s little outburst at face value. You should know by now not to assume anything about me, especially whatever he managed to spin as you all left Bree.”

“There wasn’t anything like that, really. He actually didn’t speak once that entire day. He just expected us all to follow as usual. Ale probably caught up with him; he rarely drinks enough to get soused like that.”

“And that’s why you don’t assume things.” _You’d think_ he _would’ve learned by now, too._  

“Never any good comes of getting your hopes up. But that doesn’t matter now. You…you are back, right?”

She chuckled. “Yes, Fíli. I’m back for now.”

“I knew you were too stubborn to let Uncle drive you off.”

That was one way of putting it. She pressed her fingers to her lips and drew out the long whistle that would call Shadow back to her. If they were lucky, he found a few of the other ponies.

“How was your visit?” he asked as they ambled around, waiting for any sign. “Your family was fine, I take it, considering you’re back this soon.”

“Yes, they’re fine. It was nice to see Buckland again; as wintry as everywhere else has been this season. But I feel older than I did when I went in there. All my nieces and nephews are growing like weeds, and my baby brother’s getting married. All my siblings will be hitched with children soon, and here I am, the spinster.”

He snorted. “I thought you weren’t the romantic kind.”

“Well, that wasn’t a complaint. An observation, one my parents probably try not to think about too much.”

“In that case, you’re by far the loveliest old maid I’ve ever seen.” He sent her a wink before turning away to comb through the darkness for any hoof prints. Cori blinked as she watched him. Her last conversation with Thorin returned to the front of her mind. He said Fíli took an interest in her, but she had seen boys take on lovesick expressions around those they desired, and Fíli looked at her as he had from the very beginning. He poked fun and he flirted; that seemed to be a characteristic of him and his brother. And Dwalin did more than the two combined, and she certainly did not feel _he_ wanted to take it beyond that. Unless Fíli was just extremely skilled at hiding it, she saw nothing of the sort in the way he interacted with her. So what was Thorin seeing?

“Easy now, prince. I don’t want some jealous, spiteful dam looking to ax my head in at the first opportune moment. If you dwarves are this brutal in battle, I don’t want to know what your women are like when angered.”

He barked a loud laugh. “Worse. Much, much worse.”

Within a matter of moments, Shadow emerged from the trees, nary a scratch on him, with three other ponies at his flank. After waiting a little while longer with no miracles, they regrouped with the other dwarves. Only two other ponies had returned to their masters. The dwarves would have no choice but to ride double, and the obvious toll it would have on their pace sat poorly with Thorin. But it was how it was, so onward into the night they went, relying on the sharp eyesight of the subterranean dwellers to navigate the forest.

Their path through the forested foothills of the Blue Mountains remained clear with no howls or growls to be heard. In spite of that, the company remained on edge as they trekked for a few more miles, stifling yawns as they went. The further and further away they rode from the Shire, the dread filling Cori’s stomach ebbed more. Hopefully, they had not been too late. After moving for about two hours, Thorin became confident they were far enough away from the scene of the attack and the smell of death to bed down for a few hours’ rest before dawn. No fire was lit, the company settling their complaining stomachs with jerked venison and seed cake. They were much too tired to attempt being productive anyway, which was why Cori stubbornly appointed herself as first watch, refuting any protests and suspicious glances from particular people with the refreshing night of sleep she had had under the watch of the Rangers. With her cake in hand, she plopped down on a log and crossed her legs, rooting herself to the spot (even though she could have easily been deposited elsewhere by a dwarf willing to lay a hand on her, but she expected they had grown smart). They gave in, sliding onto their bedrolls and curling up beneath their blankets for a short, cold night.

“As soon as first watch is over,” Fíli said sternly before he sat down. Despite her better sleeping habits once they crossed the Hoarwell, he refused to leave anything to chance. He was almost as nagging as her siblings.

“Yes, Your Highness,” she replied with a sigh, giggling when his eyes spun to the sky before rolling with him onto his blanket.

All was silent, as the night still lacked the creatures which would have sung cheerfully to the moon. Cori longed for spring and the warm weather that it would bring with it. From their resting point at the top of a hill, backs to the forest, she could make out the first ridge of the Blue Mountains illuminated by the moon setting directly behind it. They would have to continue on a few more weeks, even at a brisk pace, to reach Durmark. The snows in the mountains would certainly slow them down; the city sat directly in the middle of the range. With one major goal—getting there—the predictability of the journey so far had been easily discerned. Now, things were not so simple; who could say what they were going to find in there?

Cori glanced down at the resting bodies, slowly drifting off to sleep one-by-one, and she could no longer resist the smile on her face. She went away, and they received her back immediately with open arms, as if she had never left. They trusted her to watch their backs as they lay most vulnerable. Of course she knew that was a commodity afforded only to a select few who were not of the dwarvish kind. She felt the responsibility, and the exhilaration that came with it. Not even her own family welcomed her as warmly. She almost giggled to herself at how familiar this was, sitting amongst them beneath the stars with the cold winter wind blowing over them. How satisfying and pleasant it was. How _right_ it was.

A dark mass appeared on her left, nearly scaring her out of her boots. She hardly relaxed even when she realized it was Thorin settling on the log beside her, hands grasping Orcrist between his knees. She felt her stomach leap into her mouth, and her mind jumbled. _Oh, this is positively ludicrous._ If her time in the Shire had done anything about _that,_ it seemed to make it worse. She recalled some old saying about absence and the heart. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?” she teased, hoping once a conversation began, she could roll out of this stupor.

He just shrugged. “Two watches are better than one. We don’t know if we were followed.”

So far, they had heard nothing, and orcs were not the stealthiest of creatures. However, far be it from her to complain about having him there. The urge to look over at him was irresistible. She watched him as he removed his right glove, revealing bloody splits on his knuckles. They seemed to be right on top of layers of scar tissue that stretched across much of his hand; dwarves did favor their fists in fights. “Here.” She reached out for his hand and drew it to her lap. Taking up the handkerchief stuffed into the inside of her coat and the water skin settled against her ankle, she wetted the cloth with the water and dabbed at the wounds. He did not flinch, or even attempt to pull away, content with observing her work with quiet eyes and slightly parted lips.

Cuts like those could handle themselves, and if not, Thorin had decades behind him of tending to his own wounds. But Cori wanted to touch him. Valar, even a base excuse like that sounded desperate in her head. But she had gotten a small sample of the warmth his body had to offer while she lay prone across his chest fighting off a deadly chill. It was not a sensation one easily forgot. And she…craved it. His scent, and the hidden strength within his muscles despite the tenderness with which he held her. So strange for such things to become an allure to her when she came from a place that represented nearly the opposite. She truly wanted to know why. This was driving her mad.

“Cori…”

“Hm?”

Even when she finished tending to his hand, he let it rest on her thigh where she had placed it. His eyes stared down at it, specifically where she kept hers resting across his broad fingers, left hand wringing the hilt of his sword. “It was…wrong of me to assume the things I did.”

“What clued you in? Was it how I actually sought you out despite supposedly being unable to stand you, or was it my ‘hasty decision’ to do so through orc-infested lands?”

He laughed, the whites of his teeth shining in the darkness. “You are merciless.”

“Well, it’s about time someone showed you how much of an arse you are.”

“I need it. And I am. I could come up with a thousand excuses, and none would suffice. Especially not the ale; Mahal, that only makes it worse. You were worried for your family. When I should have been sympathetic, I snapped.”

“I wasn’t looking for sympathy. I just hadn’t entirely expected that reaction to something I thought we’d established long ago. What on earth were you going on about?”

His mouth flickered upward just a bit. “I truly imagined the things I said. I wondered when you would grow tired of us and take off, and I would not be able to stop you. As much as I wished I could. You have truly been a friend to us, Cori. To me. You’ve helped my eyes open to many things I had kept them closed to, and you’ve shown Fíli and Kíli the value of finding allies even more than they already knew. You did nothing to earn my ire. When I learn to keep my hands and my temper to myself, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

She grinned, tracing the veins and the lines on his hand absently. “Well, then, I guess you’re lucky I’m not put off by people actually wanting me around. No matter how they choose to show it.”

His face brightened like the moon, eyes squinting merrily. “I am lucky indeed.”

She was shameless at this point, but honestly, she had lost any will to care. Just as she felt looking down on the little troop that saw fit to accept her beyond any contractual obligation, this was good and right. She made a life listening to her heart instead of what logic depicted should be done, and she had no intentions of stopping soon. Despite there being no coherency behind it to begin with, she could not deny what stirred in her chest as she looked up to the bright blue eyes shining through the darkness at her. She could not entirely understand it either, but that was what thrilled her.

This dwarf thrilled her.

“Did you accomplish what you needed to?”

Oh, right. The detour. “Life is as it should be up there, so I suppose so. Though I left them in kind of a tizzy; I’m sure they appreciated that. That’s what I get for having to clean up after you all when you brought your mess so close to the unsuspecting. The Shire’s certainly not prepared for an assault of that magnitude.”

He studied his boots solemnly. “Another point on which I was mistaken. Seems not even a peaceful haven like the Shire is free from the filth of this world.”

“The Bucklanders will kick into action when necessary and do a bit of damage. It’s the rest of the place, like Bilbo’s home, that will take the biggest hit. Lives might be lost if anything were to happen, but they’ll hold their own until help comes.”

“We must stop whatever madness this is before it comes down to that. But how?” The uncertainty in his eyes contrasted the peerless leader she had come to know. It shocked her that she was able to see it again. “Why now? Orcs have had decades to attack us so coordinately, and now is when they strike. Nothing has changed in the mountains that would lessen any opposition to them.” Then he raised his head, and the cleft of frustration between his brows turned into one of anguish. “Except that there are fewer dwarves in the mountains. Thousands have migrated to Erebor.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and pressing a fist to his mouth. “And I wonder if it is because of Azog.”

 _You wonder if you’re to blame._ Just like him to take his people’s burdens onto his own shoulders. He would run himself into the ground from exhaustion before he admitted defeat to a problem he felt he could solve. “Orc’ve always been blood-thirsty, whether or not they had any real motive behind their rampaging. Trying to see sense in their deeds is pointless. Let their actions be their own, Thorin. You killed the Pale Orc. The rest is out of your control.”

A tense grin flickered in his beard, and his thumb briefly brushed over the top of her hand. “I just don’t understand how they could have broken through. Our fortresses do not breach to things we can kill with a single toss of an ax. I cannot believe in coincidence, Cori. There has to be an explanation.”

“This’s obviously been nagging at you for a while now. Maybe you should bring this up with your fellow dwarves instead of, you know, harping on me for keeping things to myself.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve spoken to Dwalin about this. He had no answer.”

“And you think _I_ have anything enlightening to add?”

“I am at the end of my rope. I’m willing to place my hope in anything, even if it’s a tiny hobbit who thinks she’s too big for her boots.”

“Mm. You sure know how to charm ‘em, Oakenshield.”

He chuckled, the rumble in his chest a pleasant sound in the quiet. “You admitted to it.”

The twenty-year-old tween that left the Shire at a dead sprint certainly fit that description perfectly. “Then I suppose I’m of no real use to you.”

“I value your opinions, Cori, just as well as anyone here. I always have. I’m willing to listen.”

That would be fine and dandy, if she actually had anything to add. But he was looking for something, and she felt bad leaving him hanging. Taking in a deep breath, she ran her fingers over the callused skin of his sword hand still resting in her lap. He had yet to reclaim it. “One day at a time,” she answered. “You have your suspicions, but that’s all there really is to it at this point. Focus on getting to where you’re going without you or your men getting torn apart on the way there. You’ll have answers eventually. Just sit still for a while longer, and you’ll get there.”

He smiled down at their hands. “Patience has never been my strongest trait. Still isn’t, according to Dís. But you’re right. We will get our answers, and then we can solve this as quickly and efficiently as possible.” He turned his attention to her face, soft eyes boring into hers. “Much of my life would be different had hobbits not entered it. I see it to my advantage that they remain in it for quite some time, and I hope they will.”

Well, who was she to deny the king?

            ******************************

“If anyone else is hiding a wound, I would have you tell me now. Otherwise, you’re endangering this quest and the rest of us along with it.”

No one spoke a word as Thorin’s blazing eyes swept over them, looking for the lie.

With the threat of the orcs on their tail, the company picked up their pace, keeping one eye in front and the other behind them. However, their high-stepping came to an abrupt halt when one of the younger guards, Othar, could not remount his pony when they stopped to refill their canteens in a stream. The obstacle was two nasty gashes running the length of his thigh, a parting gift from one of the wargs the night before. The lad hid it well in the night, but its stiffening did not allow him to keep it under wraps for too long. Fearing the amount of blood that soaked his trousers beneath his tunic, Cori tended to it as best as she could, suturing the flesh together. “You’re lucky,” Brur said as the burly warrior surveyed her work. Othar was his cousin. “A little to the left and you woulda bled out in minutes. Don’t think anyone would take too kindly to dragging your arse the rest of the way if we _did_ manage to stem it.”

Othar looked to his lap, thoroughly reproached by his kin and king. “I was fine until we got off.”

“Don’t know if you realize this, Master Dwarf,” Cori said as she pulled the needle through for one more stitch, “but you’re not actually made of stone.”

He grinned sheepishly toward the ground. He thanked her when she was done.

“We’ve lost daylight, and any orcs tracking us have surely gained ground,” Thorin announced, swinging back onto his pony. “We move now.” He did not, however, increase the pace, leveling them at a swift walk for the injured’s sake.

When Cori called out his restlessness the night before, she expected him to actually make an effort against it. From his reaction to her, she gleaned that he took her words to heart, after all. All day, however, he seemed even more eager to reach Durmark. Obviously, his answers awaited there, and he had only the hurdle of reaching it to get over. She told him to focus on getting to the city; maybe her advice turned on her just a bit.

He kept them going until night fell entirely. Camp went up quickly, and food was dispersed. The dwarves were eager for a helping of Cori’s cooking, leaving Ion pouting in the corner. When the hobbit scraped the bottom of the bowl for the last bit, she had a painful realization that she grew much too accustomed to the eating habits of the Shire; she knew her stomach would protest until it could readjust itself. She practiced much self-restraint when she sat down next to Thorin and declined his offer after he scowled at her portion. His muscles would be of more use if they were attacked again. Once supper was cleaned up, Thorin rose and headed toward the trees surrounding them. “Get some sleep. We start early, and we don’t stop.” With that final bark, he slipped into the darkness around them.

“Mahal, he’s at it again,” Fíli murmured from her left side, staring at his uncle’s back with all the uncanny grump of the older dwarf.

“I thought we were over this,” Kíli replied, looking less peeved and more concerned than his brother.

“Relax, lads,” Dwalin butted in as he readied his bedroll. “He’s been doin’ good so far. I think that’s the least of our worries.”

“What are you all talking about?” Cori asked, fixated on how wary Kíli seemed.

Dwalin dropped his voice just low enough for those around him to hear, unable to reach their leader. “He was the same way on the last leg of our journey to Erebor, prattin’ on about endangerin’ the quest and all that. Not to say we shouldn’t have hurried, havin’ a deadline and all. But his pushiness raised some hackles within the company before we could get to Erebor.”

“He left us in Lake-town,” Kíli grumbled, gesturing to his brother, “after I was injured by an orc bolt. We didn’t get to enter the mountain with everyone else. All but served us up to Smaug, he did.”

“Easy, boy,” Dwalin chuckled. “We all know you’ve forgiven him for that. From what I heard from Óin, ya couldn’t have made the journey anyway.”

“Still, it was annoying.”

“That’s just how he is. Ya know ‘im. It’s not what you think.”

“ _What_ do you think?” Cori pushed because they were being alarmingly dodgy. As they glanced between each other, occasionally at the place Thorin disappeared into, she realized that it was something they were extremely conflicted about telling her. They hardly seemed to want to talk about it at all, judging by the obvious discomfort on their faces. That could not bode well for sure.

“Ah,” Dwalin grunted. “You’ve been true, lass. I don’t think there’s any point in keepin’ this from you. Not as if it’s not public knowledge anyway. We think it was the gold-sickness that had him drivin’ us so hard toward Erebor.”

That sounded oddly familiar. “Thrór’s sickness?”

“Aye, so ya know of it. Good. Makes me feel a mite better about tellin’ ya this. Don’t think he’d take it too well; it’s a sensitive subject, but it ain’t something that should be ignored.”

“I never really heard much in detail about it.”

“It’s greed,” Kíli spat with a frown. “Greed incarnate. The victim sees nothing but the gold and can do nothing but sate his lust for it. It was what caused Thorin’s madness before the battle at the gates of Erebor. You heard about what he did, didn’t you?”

“Through the grapevine, so I didn’t put much faith in its validity.” Others had said it was Thorin’s madness that partly caused the battle to begin with dwarves pitted against elves and men, though it seemed fated to happen anyway since the orcs showed up.

“He wasn’t the Thorin we knew, Cori. Not at all. It was disturbing to watch.”

“But, as I said,” Dwalin interrupted when he noticed the boys squirming in their seats, “he hasn’t had a spell since he broke out of it before the battle. Stays away from gold when he can, so I suppose his paranoia’s done him some good. Hardly anything for him to get possessive over now. When he gets determined to finish something, he forgets to take a breather, so I suppose that would explain the sudden…persuasiveness. Don’t start psyching yourselves out.”

If anyone could get inside Thorin’s head, it was his stalwart lieutenant and closest friend. When he returned to camp, he spared her a small grin before slipping onto his blanket. He hardly seemed burdened by a mind-claiming sickness. In fact, he looked a little clearer in the face than before. Cori trusted Dwalin’s intuition about him, but the brothers left her unsettled. She wondered just what had gone on within the empty halls of Erebor in the days leading up to the battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> shekar: coward
> 
> So, I felt really bad leaving you guys without an update for a week when everybody was so eager to get back with the dwarves. So I worked my tail off and here it is (actually, the chapter after this was what I was working on and I mostly took from the previous draft of this story so there wasn't a whole lot of "writing" XD). But finally, we are back with the dwarves and continuing on to Durmark.
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely comments and kudos. They're the highlight of my day and I love reading every single one of them. You guys are the best! <3


	15. At Your Service

The orcs backed off. Why? Who could say? All the dwarf company from Erebor could guess was that Mahal blessed their journey with a little bit of luck. The conflict came when they tried to determine whether the path before them opened by Mahal was a good omen or a merciful favor to help them to their struggling kin faster. The former train of thought encapsulated most of the dwarves, but of course, Thorin chose to let himself grow a few more grey hairs by perpetuating the latter. It left morale dangling on a thin edge, though fortunately, it remained in place and allowed them some peace of mind.

“What did I say?” Cori grumbled at some point when Thorin urged his pony far ahead of the group and remained unaware in his spinning thoughts. “One day at a time. Your scowl isn’t going to pull us toward the mountains any faster.”

“I’m focusing on the task at hand, like you told me.”

“I didn’t say get yourself killed by ignoring everything else. You’re blind to the world, and it’s going to cost us if we get ambushed. Yavanna, what have we come to that _I_ have to be the one to tell _you_ this, oh great dwarven warrior? It’s a wonder you’ve lived this long, you old coot.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You done?”

“You going to slow down or are you going to try to get to Durmark on one breath, because you’re turning blue already?”

He chuckled, pulling his reins a little tighter. “Fine. I will follow your suggestion once again and wait for the moment you grow tired of it and decide to advise me into a different strategy. I think I’ll time it this time.”

“Thin ice, dwarf. It’s cracking.”

Cori could not get enough of this banter, because frankly, it was done from nothing but love of this game. They went at each other for hours, teasing and prodding until one or the other gave in and fired back. Thorin may have allowed his determination to win over when it was time to lead his men, but as soon as she made a jab, he visibly relaxed into his seat as if the steel rod slipped out of his spine. She could not remember the last time she had this much fun with someone. It almost made her forget the wild and fanciful stirrings of her heart for a moment, but then she realized all this interaction was only making the feelings stronger. It was entirely out of control at the moment, and it excited her.

Only little trouble marred the rest of the journey. At one point, a pack of grey wolves tried to steal some of their food, but Kíli’s arrow sticking out of their less fortunate friend sent the rest running. Kíli offered Cori the pelt, and when she refused, he insisted that he had no need for it and that it was a gift. It was difficult to turn her nose up to a wolf pelt—one she acquired in the past sold enough to feed her for almost a month—so she caved. She maintained that she would help him skin it, however, and that was their task for one evening, which almost ended in an intense poking battle. The young prince was quite ticklish, she found out.

A month to the day after leaving Bree, the company rose over the crest of a ridge in the deepest part of the Blue Mountains to see the end of their journey rise high above them. Carved into the cliff face was a large door with two thick pillars standing on either side of it. The scale was much smaller than that of Erebor’s, but the design was no less impressive. Within a few hours, they stood at the feet of the pillars. The dwarves cast smug grins toward the opulent display by their kin while Cori just gaped in awe. She had been here twice, and before her first journey passed the Misty Mountains to the Iron Hills, this was the grandest dwarven fortress she ever laid eyes on. She remembered gaping for several minutes before moving on. Upon approaching the gate, two guards who stood at the entrance marched up to greet them with fists to their chests. “Thorin _Uzbad,_ ” they both said with a bow of the head. “It is pleasing to see you, but we were not expecting you,” continued the one on the left with a long, black beard separated into two thick braids.

“No?” Thorin tilted his head, a frequent sign of his curiosity. One of many things about his behavior that Cori paid special attention to. “We received your summons.”

They glanced at each other, shrugging. “We didn’t know there was one.”

Thorin nodded. “Interesting.”

The guards opened the gates, allowing the party to enter into the great subterranean halls of Durmark. Natural light sources were not very abundant here, as the mountain they now entered was wider than the Lonely Mountain, but torches lined the walls of the antechamber. They reflected off the faces of statues carved into the stone, casting shadows off the angular support columns lined down the middle of the long, narrow hall. It was similar to the other dwarvish settlements Cori visited, barring enormity, and yet very unique with minute details varying here and there. There was no doubt that the Longbeards carried the population here, some of the symbols in the stone distinctive from the Broadbeam settlements she frequented the most. Their ponies were taken to the stables designated to the right next to the gate, and with packs hanging over their shoulders, they began the walk deeper into the capital of the southern Blue Mountain range, the village once overseen by Lord Avin.

Dwarves emerged from their shops and homes as the company marched through. A few familiar faces came into Cori’s view. They mumbled amongst each other, and she hardly needed to read their lips to know what they discussed. She looked a bit of an oddity within the finely dressed royalty and guards, and certainly not someone one would find in the company of a king. Never mind that she was a hobbit traveling with dwarves. Her proximity to Thorin may have saved her from the glares. Suddenly, someone in the congregating crowd shouted, “It’s Thorin Oakenshield! King Thorin is here!” The echoes of the crier filled the streets as a mob formed and followed them, chanting for the king. And as he was called to do, Thorin swept a comforting grin over the crowd, acknowledging their welcome.

“We must reach the council halls of Lord Avin,” he called out, focusing on one dwarf in particular that was walking near the front.

“At the square with the mountain, my king, turn right. My lord’s halls have been moved to the end of the street.”

Indeed they were, and hard to miss. Wide double doors of strong oak stood on the first level just up a few stairs. Over it, a catwalk protruded from the second floor with two staircases leading up to it, offering a view of the large market area. Though its width was striking, Cori wondered how far back it could possibly go. _Very close to the market,_ she thought. To put the legislation chambers next to the hub of commerce was a large bridge to the regular folk living within the mountain. The overseer of this city’s construction, and the lord that committed to the supposed new arrangement, just earned her respect.

Out of the double doors came a dwarf of great stature and build, his hair and beard mud brown, thick hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his side. He stood at the top of the steps as the company approached the house. When Thorin stood before him, the dwarf bowed. “Hail, Thorin, King Under the Mountain. It is good you’ve come.”

“Extenuating circumstances delayed us,” Thorin replied. “A pleasure to see you, Hundin, son of Lavin. I see we may not have been needed at all.” He motioned to the archways leading in and out of the square, goods stalls crammed close together as shoppers browsed what lay on offer. For a settlement rumored to have been viciously attacked by orcs, it seemed to be in good condition.

“On the contrary. We may have built up our walls again, but this threat has not slunk away for good. We must discuss what is to be done about them.”

“Of course.” He sent the guards away, asking them to take their belongings and have them brought to their rooms in the upper levels. Cori followed the sons of Durin into the council hall. Briefly, she met the inquisitive and perturbed gaze of Hundin, whose stare only grew harder when she did not disappear with the guards. Ah, yes. The satisfaction of disrupting the mood of the perpetually prejudice. She lived for the chaos. She kept her chin high as she walked behind Thorin, shamelessly reveling in his acceptance to her presence.

Hundin led them through the main hall past a staircase on the left and several doors on both sides. Another set of high double doors stood adjacent to the entrance. The guards standing in front pulled them open. Inside, a grand desk sat at the opposite wall. Lining the perimeter of the room were several tall-backed chairs, deep red draperies hanging from the ceiling behind each one of them. A final, more elaborate chair sat behind the sturdy oak wood desk. It would have been more elaborate had it not had the top chopped off into jagged points then burned. Even the cushion was singed badly. None of the other ancient chairs were damaged, which could only mean the disfigurement of the one had been deliberate. A king may not have sat on that chair, but the message was all the same: an insult to the settlement and all those who presided in it. Funny. That seemed like something orcs would not have bothered with; their presence alone was an insult.

“Lord Avin has not been found,” Hundin addressed the unspoken question in the room, gaining the attention of the dwarf leaning with one hand against the desk with as lordly an air as one could have. “Though the search has been robust.”

“Mivror, son of Mivdor,” Thorin addressed the steward with a nod.

The black-haired dwarf bowed low. “A relief to have you here, Thorin, son of Thráin.”

“Yes, well, it seems to be a shock to all except you. The guards at the gates were not informed to expect us?”

The dwarf pursed his lips, though it was hardly noticeable beneath the thick mustache. “No one was, my lord, at my behest. The letter was sent in secret.”

“So _you_ sent a letter to Erebor some months ago. On behalf of Lord Avin?”

Mivror nodded. “Yes. I penned the letter after his capture.”

“Leaving out the seal.”

“The seal was in a ring he wore. The ring was taken with him, and we had no other replacement. The letter was written under duress, and I must admit to a bit of panic. As you can see, our circumstances are not as dire as the letter made it out to be. Please forgive my confusion and irrationality. And the sloppiness of the pen.”

“I would have had to come anyway.”

Mivror nodded. “That did not seem of an immediate concern; the letter for such a summons would have been more composed.”

“I trust you have not been attacked since the first one.”

“No. Restoring things as they were was difficult, and the town’s disheartened with the absence of Lord Avin, but we’ve managed all right so far. But it may all be in vain if we don’t figure out a way to retaliate.” He hesitated, laying coal-black eyes on the hobbit. Another place she was not welcome, apparently. But two warm bodies stood a breath away from her back, and she grinned. The princes sent a silent vouch for her and a subtle sway toward any protest. With a sigh, Mivror caved. “I will call in an assembly of the council.”

Within minutes, the tall chairs were filled with old dwarves sporting many signs of their experience as warriors: an equal share of scars and age lined their faces, or what could be seen above their extraordinary beards. A few had fresher faces. One in particular caught Cori’s eye as she watched him enter with the ten Erebor soldiers behind him. He could not have been more than a couple decades past a hundred years. His clothes were different from the others in the room, stained nearly black, and even from her spot, she could smell the soot and iron coming from him. A miner, digging somewhere deep in this hollow mountain. Still, what set him apart from the others the most was the terrible scar tearing through his young face, from his forehead down across his cheek to the opposite corner of his mouth. It reminded her of the faint pink line that similarly adorned Thorin’s face. Despite his years, however, his eyes were laden heavy with wisdom and affliction. Silent horror lay behind the dark brown irises, orbs that seemed so familiar to her.

 _It can’t be._ But she had to know.

“Be back in a moment,” she murmured to Dwalin at her right side before she moved across the room toward the dwarf seated in the chair second from the desk on the left. He did not notice her until he was settled, looking up at her in surprise. His curiosity matched everyone else that looked at her. She smiled kindly to him. “I’m Cori Houndberry,” she introduced herself with a bow of her head, “at your service.”

His untouched brow quirked. “Well met. I am Nidor, son of Nore. And what could you possibly offer me, Cori Houndberry?”

“Something valuable, I hope.” Oh, she hoped this was not as much of a shot in the dark as she dreaded it was. “Do you happen to have a daughter?”

The pain piercing his heart at that moment clearly reflected in his eyes, and Cori could have kissed him for all the joy and relief in her. “I…I did.”

She moved closer to him, suddenly aware of the many eyes following her back. “And her name? Enna?”

He gasped, sitting up suddenly. He dared not hope, but it was there nonetheless. “How…?”

“You still have a daughter, my lord. She made it to Erebor in the company of orcs, but relatively unharmed. We left her in the care of the dwarves under the mountain. She eagerly waits for you.”

Tears sparkled in his eyes as he stood from his seat, staring down at her as if she would disappear into the air. “Truly? Enna? Brown hair filled with strings of copper?”

Cori nodded. “That’s her.”

He seemed on the verge of collapsing, something that did not go unnoticed by the other dwarves. Tension in the room rose. However, when the dwarf wrapped the hobbit in an abrupt, tight embrace, the skepticism gave way to confusion. He sniffed into her shoulder for a moment before moving away, a broad grin shining brightly from his face. “Thank you, Cori Houndberry. My…my wife has gone to the Halls of Waiting, but I’m certain she would be overjoyed to know our Enna is safe. I will write to her immediately, and set out at once to meet her there. I owe you a boundless debt.”

Once she looked upon his face, wet and beyond elated, she wanted to throttle herself for ever considering this mission to be folly, unimportant, even a waste of time. The greatest change to be had in this world was the change brought in the simplest ways. This news meant _everything_ to this dwarf. The agony that he would have reeled in for the rest of his days, having only chance to decide whether he ever saw his daughter again… Where was the justice in that? Where did she get off toying with such things, as if they were as trivial as deciding how she would style her hair that day?

She gave her best shot at a smile toward him—tight and forced—then returned to her spot beside Dwalin. She did not meet their gazes. Shame flooded her like an empty pot dipped in a river. She tried not to think about the new weight of responsibility now piling like bricks onto her shoulders. Instead, she set her attention as well as she could on the meeting. She was here; she might as well know what had caused all the trouble. It seemed that these dwarves had a pretty good idea.

“The arrival of the King Under the Mountain bodes well for us,” Mivror began the assembly, standing in front of the great desk. “True order can be returned to our once peaceful settlement, and peace will remain once we’ve decided the next course of action against our enemies. Who better to make the call than the heir of Durin himself?” A rumble of agreement shook the room itself. Cori sneaked a glance at Thorin, but she saw nothing except the courtly mask fixed over his face. “My King.” Mivror stepped aside, offering his place to Thorin.

“Before we can decide our next move,” he began, “we must first learn what these orcs want from us and these lands.”

“But, Your Majesty,” Hundin interrupted from his seat. “The orcs have not touched our settlement. They remain on the plains of Eriador and in the northernmost settlements of Ered Luin.”

Thorin’s brow furrowed. “Then who attacked this place?”

“Men.”

Cori almost choked.

“Impossible,” Thorin growled low, leveling a stone cold glare on the entire room. “We found a dwarfling from this settlement, who we have now discovered is the daughter of Nidor, son of Nore. She was a captive of orcs. She described the attack on the mines. She called those responsible ‘monsters.’”

“And monsters they were,” Mivror replied with malice dripping from his tongue like poison. “Haradrim, they were like in appearance, though they definitely were not. They knew Westron, spoke with accents befitting Gondorians or Rohirrim; there was a mix of the two. But this was no raid of the treasury or the land. They wanted us dead.”

Cori’s heart began to pound furiously in her chest. Men attacking dwarves? No. This was too familiar. There was no way this could be happening again.

“Then explain the beasts wandering the East Road,” Dwalin interrupted, pushing off the wall. “And the plains to the southeast. We were stalked for most of our journey; they sure as death weren’t going to let us get here alive. You’re sayin’ they _aren’t_ responsible for this?”

“We believe the orcs are in league with these human scum, to a degree,” Mivror answered, pacing out into the middle of the floor. “They are paid, though with what, we haven’t deemed important. Some are just taking advantage of our vulnerability for a bit of sport. But the humans are at the head of these attacks. The rest of the cities in the Blue Mountains have been taken the same way. Some were ransacked by orcs right after the initial attacks; those filthy devils left carnage where they swept in to pick up the pieces.” He was shaking, his formal countenance failing.

“Have you any leads on motivation?” Thorin asked, stroking his beard in deep contemplation. He was clearly trying to keep up with this new development, putting all his effort into thinking on the spot. It seemed to be paying off. He hardly _looked_ fazed.

“None. But they are persistent. For the time being, they’ve gone into hiding. Some of our kin north of the Gulf fought back valiantly, dwindling their numbers by a great amount. But they have suffered greatly for it. Some call on the aid of those, like us, who still stand strong. They’ve run out of supplies and require assistance. Our efforts as well as from those around us have made a difference, but we are far from winning this war.”

“War,” Thorin murmured. “Must we declare war?”

Mivror growled. “By Mahal, we will give them a war the like of which Middle-earth has never seen from the dwarves.”

Thorin acquired years within that moment, new creases dipping into his skin. Suddenly, the grey in his hair stood out more prominently. Cori watched with a frown at the array of emotions crossing his face. His inner turmoil was not hard to guess. They had just come out of a costly battle with orcs a few months prior, and another almost a year and a half ago. Many, many lives were lost to the Halls of Aulë, each one a personal jab to the sympathetic king’s heart. The Battle of the Five Armies nearly took his life, she heard, and the lives of his nephews. Fíli barely escaped the skirmish with the orcs alongside the Iron Hills, thanks to luck bringing Cori along where she should never have been. One glance at the young dwarves told her they were thinking the same thing. Young, strong warriors like them would be eager to test their prowess in battle, but they had had enough, it seemed. Taking on an organization of Men was much messier than cleaning up a few orcs. They wanted no part of it, and she wished they were not put in this position. Had they not done enough to deserve peace?

“We will investigate this matter further,” Thorin finally declared after a moment of silence. “Find out where these Men came from exactly. If we can call upon the aid of other Men who would also see them brought to justice, perhaps we can avoid unnecessary bloodshed. A more direct approach would take longer to eradicate them all. Cutting them off at the source will see this ended quickly.”

“Aid?” Mivror snarled, eye twitching. The hairs on Cori’s neck bristled. “Aid from Men! When have we needed _their_ help? They care nothing for us!”

“They care for rogues who have unleashed orcs onto their own people!” Thorin retorted, taking an authoritative stride toward the younger dwarf.

“You have grown soft in that mountain, Thorin Oakenshield.” A disdainful sneer spread across Mivror’s face. “King Thrór would not hesitate to lead a full army of warriors to aid his kinsmen!”

“I am not my grandfather.” Thorin crossed his arms resolutely. “That is my final say on the matter. If you wish to speak further, I will listen. But my word stands.”

“No!” Hundin yelled out. “You would have us resign ourselves to slaughter?”

“If you cannot see reason behind what I’ve said, you will have to strike out on your fool’s errand yourself. Erebor has barely begun to rebuild itself. I cannot weaken its meagre defenses by sending soldiers across Middle-earth. I offer you all the coin you need to rebuild and arm yourselves, but if that is all you will take from me, we will proceed with the election at a later date and be done here.”

“We don’t want your gold!” Mivror roared. “Traitor’s coin!”

“You are no king to us!” Hundin pointed an accusing finger at him. “Traitor!”

“So be it!”          

And decorum was tossed aside like a dirty rag. Cori jumped as the old dwarves sitting on their high-backed chairs thumped to the floor, calling out their objections one after another, all voices mixing together. Mivror stepped into Thorin’s face, snarling with bared teeth like a cornered dog. Dwalin stepped up to intercede, pushing the dwarf back with one thrust of his arm. Fíli and Kíli stood by their uncle, shouting at the opposition with animated gestures. The eight guards from Erebor pushed their way through the crowd to stand by their king. The only ones in the room left to stand and gawk in shock were Cori and Nidor, who gazed toward the hobbit helplessly. Cori did not feel so lost.

This was madness.

Ungrateful hardly cut it. The dwarves of Erebor left their home far away, the one they just spent much blood reclaiming from the clutches of a dragon, racing across Middle-earth to answer a panicked cry for help from their kin in Ered Luin. Oh, but did it have to end there? They apparently had to offer more, according to the self-appointed steward now screaming in Dwalin’s face.

And where on earth did Thorin’s level-headedness from a few moments prior disappear to? He lashed right back at them, his temper flying way off the handle. Of course, he was well within his rights to be frustrated; his efforts to help would not be pushed aside so easily, if he had anything to say about it. And he had much to say. So the dwarves raged on, the noise in the room deafening enough to make Cori’s ears ring. When blades were drawn, she knew enough was enough.

Grabbing an unsuspecting Dwalin by the ear (again), she tossed him aside like a ragdoll, ignoring his yelp of surprise. With a scream that ripped through her throat painfully, she shoved herself in between the grabby hands of Thorin and Mivror. They battered her body around for a moment, but she planted her feet and refused to give ground. Somehow, amidst the chaos, Thorin realized who was pushing into his chest and backed away immediately. His blazing eyes narrowed at the other dwarf, and Cori feared he would lunge again, so she blocked his path. “What is the matter with you?!” she howled, her shockingly booming voice penetrating the squabble and silencing everyone.

“What’s this halfling doing here?” Mivror growled, gesturing to her harshly. “This assembly is no place for one of those pointy-eared runts!”

“She is here with me!” Thorin snarled right back, and Cori pressed her back to his chest to keep him from advancing farther. “And you will show her respect! If I hear you say another word toward her again…”

And the uproar revived.

Finally, the anger boiling in Cori’s blood bubbled over and spilled out. She pulled her sword from her quiver and aimed it directly at Mivror’s neck. He reacted immediately, tilting his head back and grimacing down the blade at her. The council brandished their own weapons, prompting the Erebor troop to retaliate as one of their own was threatened. Suddenly, the situation turned direr, but Cori seethed too hotly to care. They had shut up.

“Cori, drop your sword,” Thorin directed gently, eyeing her in shock.

“I refuse to sit by and watch you undermine yourselves because you’re too stubborn to compromise!” She lowered her weapon, keeping it firmly in her grasp as she turned to face the dumbstruck audience. “Again, I ask: what is the matter with you all? When did this turn into a civil war? You’re on the same side, or is that notion too complicated for your irrational brains to comprehend?”

A terrifying chorus of protests arose, and a few more pointed ends twinkled in her face. “When were you sanctioned to come in here and insult us?” one dwarf with a head of silver growled at her, prompting a wave of assertions.

“When I realized you wouldn’t stop doing the same until you all lay bloody on the floor. I think I’ll skip that part and go straight to logic.” She stared around at each face that she could see in the tight circle around her. “I’ve spent the last few months traveling with this company, and in all that time, I’ve yet to scratch the surface of understanding you lot. But I know for a fact that you are loyal to each other, no matter what. All of you would give your last breath for the dwarf standing beside you _right now_ if it came to that.

“Now we have orcs and wicked men and whatever else the Valar decides to throw at us, waiting to tear us apart. Yet here you are, tearing into each other.” She pointed to her chest. “You question _my_ place here, but weren’t you just questioning the leadership? Have you not sworn your fealty—your blades, your axes, your lives—to Durin’s heir? Well, there he is!” She jerked a finger toward Thorin. “To reject him now is to go back on your honor. We can’t have that, now, can we? So act like you know the meaning of responsibility and reverence. Fulfill your vow to him.”

Silence reigned, disturbed by nothing but heaving breathing.

“Durmark, Erebor didn’t come here to order you around. Your kin have answered your pleas for help, and considering they have what you need, I would say it’s wise you lend them an ear. And to my companions, for whom I’ve developed a great fondness and respect, pull your heads out of the sand and take a look around. Your kin are suffering and scared. Yavanna, why do I need to tell you that? They are lost, seeking a solution, and you are their only guidance right now. Find the patience to compromise. If you don’t, well, I don’t think even Mahal can save you then.” She sniffed, adjusting her ruffled fur coat. What little air remained in her lungs left in a great whoosh as she realized all eyes were trained unblinkingly on her. _Get out. Get out now._ In the silence that followed, she returned to her spot against the wall, silently hyperventilating.

It was as if the heavens parted to douse a drought-ridden land with sweet relief. The dwarves backed away. They stood for a while, staring at each other, but the hostility in the air was gone. Finally, they turned away and settled back in their chairs. Weapons disappeared. Mivror scowled at the ground, but anything else he desired to say stayed within.

Cori took a breath when she realized nobody would be coming after her. _I’m the biggest idiot in the room._

A heavy arm fell down onto her shoulders. She peered up toward the source. Dwalin grinned down at her, grey eyes sparkling in laughter. She leaned into him, content to hide within his body. It was her best bet against the backlash sure to come.

“Are we ready to resume then?” Thorin asked the council. No one objected.

                     ***************

Night fell before the council adjourned, and when all was said and done, the royal guests and their guards were shown to their rooms in the lord’s hall above the court chambers. Cori sank low into a warm bath, fragrant with herbs delivered by a servant girl, the steam swirling around her and into the cool air. She let her mind drift with it for just a moment, barring all adverse thoughts as well as she could. The last time she had something like this was in Erebor. She wanted to enjoy this as much as she could; when would the next time be, after all? There was something to be said about taking a bath as the gentle current of a river lapped at her, though. Convincing herself to bathe on the road would become easier once the weather warmed.

When the water grew cold and her skin shined, she donned herself in clean sleeping clothes and a large robe provided by the maid. Obviously, it was made for a voluptuous dwarrowdam. She snickered as it dangled off her frame. Her family was right, though: she still had some meat on her bones, but finding a hobbit of her slimmer shape would be nigh impossible.

Knowing the hour called for most dwarves to be nestled in their homes by now, Cori ventured out of her room, following a short, claustrophobic hallway until she reached an outdoor walkway hanging off the side of the mountain. It sat high above a valley, providing a grand view of the land east for miles. It connected several different pathways back into the mountain, many arches carved into the rock and glowing with torchlight from within. An overhang curved above it as protection from the elements. It was a masterful piece of architecture. The air was bitter with cold, but refreshing after her hot bath and the even hotter exchange in the court room. A guard patrolling the walkway marched by, and she gave him a polite smile before she hopped up onto the railing and swayed her feet. As icy as the wind whipping up around her, the thoughts she worked so keep from her mind earlier crashed in.

Years ago, she would have given anything to sit in on dwarven politics and watch fists fly, as was rumored to happen. It would have given credence to her perception on the dwarves’ bellicose. Instead of enjoying the fun, she jumped in and stopped it (with success, no less). This time was different from any other, however. The dwarves were under attack by Men. Again.

“ _I cannot believe in coincidence, Cori._ ”

And here, neither could she. She watched it happen once. Something had to be done this time.

For many years, she walked the halls of the dwarves and chastised them beneath her breath for their suspiciousness and their reclusiveness. What was so hard about including yourself in the world, socializing, and not pretending like you were the only living creatures? She resented them for their bitterness to her and their hypocrisy in the face of the rest of the Free Folk of Middle-earth. Not once did she ever think to turn a mirror to herself.

She traveled the paths of this world, selling to all manner of folk from Men to dwarves, even doing the odd favor for the elves, as they were the ones who taught her survival and the art of the bow. She met new faces on a regular basis, all of which yielding a story behind that hollow daze or that bright and glowing smile. She knew nothing of them, cared very little about getting to know them. She may have been in this world, but she could not definitely say she was part of it.

She told her mother she was doing good on her adventures, helping people, and yet, her father had it right. She picked and chose where and when she did good, and how much. She was no more than a specter slipping into the wilderness, refusing to make the time for valuable friendships, like with these dwarves. She clothed people, but beyond that, she contributed little.

Now, she helped a dwarf to be reunited with his only child, the last link he had to his beloved wife, and she realized she never felt such a feeling before. To have made such an impact sent a shiver of jubilance and astonishment through her. She loved it. How many chances of making a difference in someone’s life had she passed up in all her years? What was the point of being free of the confines of the Shire and doing nothing with that freedom?

She made the mistake of getting caught up in a scuttle with dwarves many, many years ago, vowing to put it in her past for the remainder of her days and involving herself no more in dwarven disputes. And here she was, contemplating it once more even after she should have learned her lesson. But she had to make it right this time. She had to help. She owed it to _them._

“Can’t sleep?”

She jerked her head to the side at the voice, a new wave of shivers passing through her so there was no mistaking who it was. Her eyes widened when she found Thorin, a large, black raven perched on his arm. He met her eyes briefly before whispering to the bird in a low voice. The raven gave a croak before taking off. Cori watched the moon reflect on its glossy feathers before it disappeared into the darkness completely. “I make a habit of wandering around at night when I’m in a dwarf city. It’s the only time I don’t meet people.”

Thorin chuckled, resting his arms on the stone wall next to her spot and folding his hands. “It is a wonder you’ve never been lost, then.”

“Oh, do I have some stories to tell you?” She tilted her head out toward the valley. “What was that?”

“Correspondence to Erebor. Dís made me promise to send word when we arrived. Otherwise, she would assume I’ve finally killed off her sons. I told them our stay here will be indefinite until we take care of this problem.”

“You talk to birds now?”

“They have boundless wisdom, you know. The best roosting spots, where to find carcasses when you need one.”

“By the Seven Fathers, he’s got a sense of humor.”

His brow rose. “Since when have you sworn by them?”

“Since I’ve listened to dwarves continuously stubbing their toes for the past three months. Don’t act so pious, I heard a few from you.”

He chuckled. His hand lifted, brushing her chin between his thumb and index. The skin burned beneath his touch. “Just get some hair growing there, and we’ll make a dwarf out of you yet.”

“Eck!”

He laughed the most breathtaking sound she ever heard, bumping his knuckles to her chin. “If you can be proud of who you are, so can I.”

Oh, the temptation to grab his hand back and hold it between hers. But out came some kind of self-control she had no idea she possessed. Things were more complicated now than they were before. She had to be careful.

“You’re going after the attackers then?”

He nodded. “Once we get more leads on where they are or who might be at the center of all this.” He breathed out a harsh sigh. “This looks too much like those attacks on Blue Mountains settlements fifteen years ago.”

“Men of unknown origin with no clear authority figure senselessly killing dwarves in their own homes? Sounds like a close match to me.”

He looked up at her in surprise. “You know of that?”

“It was around the time I began my journeying from the Shire. The first place I went to was the mountains when I left home.”

“We thought they were disbanded into the wilderness, but I suppose we didn’t get them all.”

He did not suspect anything _._ He had no reason to. She would make sure it stayed that way. “Did you bring this up with Mivror?”

“It is why he wants to take action so quickly. He was affected personally by those attacks, and he has sought revenge for it since then. There is a reason Avin became Lord of Durmark before him. If he wins the popular vote, I will override it. He is not fit to rule this city.”

“I don’t know. He seems like the ideal dwarf to me. A barrage of opinions to be spat out like sparks from an anvil. Why not add another hothead to the top?”

He grinned. “I see our meeting impressed something upon you. Oh, but I think I already figured that out. Tell me more.”

“Your bickering was getting on my nerves. If you didn’t kill yourselves first, I would’ve certainly done the deed myself.”

“We would have sorted ourselves out eventually,” he chuckled. “It wouldn’t be dwarven politics if someone didn’t end up with a bloody face by the end of it.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“Can be.”

“So what does Mivror not do right?”

“I’ve known him for years. He is another politician with his own agenda that hardly includes the wishes of the people. Everybody knows it. It is unlikely he will actually win the vote.”

She stared at her feet and folding her hands in her lap. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. It was impressive, if rash. But your display struck the council dumbfounded; I’ve never seen them so quiet. We all knew you were right.”

“I guess I shouldn’t expect them to give me a pat on the back.”

“I’ll be the one to apologize for their words and obvious derogatory thoughts toward you, then.”

“Well, the reception I received in there was no different from the one I got in Erebor. You could not have been more obvious in your blatant mistrust of me, yet everyone seemed to buy your façade hook, line, and sinker.”

He grinned. “Yes, that was a very entertaining game we played.”

“For you, maybe,” she scoffed. “I felt like I’d be thrown into a boiling pot of gold to be cast into a statue at the first misstep.”

“You would have made for a fetching one.”

Her stomach rolled. _Pesky thing._ “Flattery to save face? You must want something.”

One corner of his mouth tipped up. “I’ve already implored enough for that, I think.”

“Hm. I haven’t seen any groveling yet.”

“I’ll have to disappoint you.”

 _A difficult task for this hopeless fool of a hobbit, I assure you._ “Well, can I offer my help anyway?”

He raised a brow. “And why would you want to do that?”

“Why would I want to reunite a girl with her father? I’m part of this now. I can’t turn my back on what’s going on here and pretend it’s not happening. The Shire’s in danger now. I can’t leave my family to dangle from a cliff.”

He gaped, blue eyes boring into hers. “Out of the kindness of your heart?”

She rolled her eyes. “All right, if you’re going to make me say it. You’re friends now, Thorin. You and your family. We may know very little about each other, and that obviously bothers you, but if this is important to you, then I won’t leave you to deal with this on your own. Won’t make much of a difference in the scheme of things, I’m sure, but hey, I’ve got nothing better to do.”

For a moment, he just stared down at her, his head slowly moving back and forth. Wait, his question had not been a joke. He was absolutely serious. Finally, a bright, toothy (very handsome) smile fell upon her, twinkling eyes stealing her breath. “You are a gift, Cori Houndberry. Your kindness and willing heart will be remembered alongside the cunning and courageousness of Bilbo Baggins. I would be a fool to try to deny the honorable service of hobbits again.”

This offer was far from honorable. It was now she who would be paying a debt, and a lofty one at that. While friendship had a great deal to do with this offer, it was best that he believe it to be entirely that. “Then it’ll be my pleasure.”

He smiled, suddenly very merry. “Or your greatest regret.”

“Oh, yes. That, too, certainly.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roll credits! (JK, but I finally got the title in here, so ding!)
> 
> Finally, we've made it to Durmark, and something fishy's afoot.
> 
> Thank you for all the feedback, loves! It's more than I could've ever asked for. <3


	16. Green Pines in Winter

“I’m staying with you.”

Judging by the expressions of the dwarves, Cori had entirely thrown them for a loop. In fact, it seemed to have distracted them momentarily from their training session. That was a feat deserving of mighty praise. She should work to do it more often. What easy entertainment.

“As in, leave Durmark with us?” Fíli asked tentatively. The question followed a comical exchange of nearly identical confused faces with his brother. He looked like an adorable puppy waiting for the scrap of meat he had been promised. Both of them did, in fact.

“Until you don’t have a bunch of psychotic humans nipping at your heels, sure.” She shot another arrow into the target, grinning when it chipped into the side of the one already imbedded deep in the red circle in the center. A gesture of genuine bewilderment, actually. If she dared to give a shout for herself, her aim had become something to behold since the start of the journey. Before, it was sufficient to fell an animal as humanely as possible. After having to hunt for meat more and more often than in the past—traveling with a group of bottomless stomachs, that is—she had never shot so much in her life. The accomplishment felt wholesome.

“Face it, lads,” Dwalin called out as he mopped the sweat from his face. He had personally seen to the decimation of a training dummy for the past hour and a half. Cori grimaced anxiously when she saw her face where the thing lacked one. It was about her height, too. “We’re stuck with her. Once the threat’s out of our hair, she’ll come up with another excuse to stay. Better start making Erebor hobbit-friendly.”

“All right, I think Thorin already took care of informing me of my being a normal person who can freely change their mind when they wish, but thank you for the update anyway.”

“Just admit it, lass. You’re a paradox.”

_Guilty as charged_. “Is that a grievance I hear? It’s not like I don’t have a prosperous business I can return to if you’re tired of the furry-footed leech.”

“I think you’ve forgotten about the ‘prosperous’ kingdom we hail from,” Kíli said with a wink, flexing his wrist with his sword in hand. “What little you’ve taken from us can hardly be measured in comparison to what we actually have.”

“Well, brag about it.”

“No grievances, Cori,” Fíli informed her. “As long as you’re willing to put up with us, we’ll have you.”

“At least you all are self-aware,” she murmured to herself. “Circumstances have changed by furlongs since we established that. I can’t predict the future, so whatever I decide to do later on down the road, you’ll just have to deal with it.”

“We’ll take what we can get,” Kíli shrugged. “In the meantime, let me take you out. I saw you shining that sword earlier. Let’s see you put it to use.”

Sparring with a true warrior hardly seemed like an impossible task anymore. Thanks to these dwarves, her swordsmanship had taken a leap along with her archery. After watching Kíli go up against his family several times, she felt confident that she learned most of what she needed to concerning his regular tactics and strategies. She could make him work a bit. “If you can catch me. Let me know when you need me to go easy on you, sweetheart.”

Despite the laughter from the other two, Kíli took the jab with a smirk. “I’ve got all day.”

Unlike much of his kin, Kíli had agility and litheness on his side. While Dwalin usually went at her with blinding force that could be dodged fairly easily if she was still fresh, the young prince was _quick._ His teachers—namely Dwalin and Thorin as of late—tapered down his overconfidence successfully, so he was prepared for just about anything. Were she not well-practiced in slipping her way out of sticky situations already, keeping up with the kid would be all she could do; no chance of actually catching him off his guard. As it was, however, her increasing skills kept her in sync with him. They parried back and forth, dancing around and around for some time. And Cori seemed to have found one of her new favorite activities.

“Miss Hobbit.” Othor, abundantly healed of his ghastly wounds, appeared at the archway leading into the training area. He grinned at the red-cheeked hobbit with sweat pouring from beneath her curly hair. “The king requests you in his chambers.”

A drawled whistle, followed by a hearty guffaw, came from Dwalin. “Now I see how you managed to convince ‘im to let ya stay.”

Cori grinned wryly, thankful that her face was already bright pink. “You were the one that followed him out of your home even when everyone else tried to convince you otherwise, Master Dwalin. At least I’m not kissing his feet or the dirt they’ve trod.”

Fíli nearly spat his water, clutching his arms to hide the shaking of his shoulders.

“Well played, Miss Houndberry,” the warrior grinned. “Well played there.”

She left him with one last smirk before heading off in the direction of the corridor where their rooms sat. Durmark may have been similar to Erebor in a lot of ways, but what it lacked was the scale of the Lonely Mountain. The threat of losing her way hovered a little less ominously, but she was always apprehensive about two-way corners in dwarf halls. With her face scrubbed dry and her hair fluffed just a bit (because how could it hurt to be just a little presentable in front of the perpetual handsomeness she pined after?), she stopped at Thorin’s door and tapped her knuckles to it.

“Come in.”

She slipped in through the smallest crack, tossing an eye down the hall just to make sure no one happened to be wandering by at the time. This was nothing but a routine call, she was sure, but it was delightfully fun to pretend as if Dwalin had actually been onto something. She truly was getting bored in this giant cave if sparring and imagining scandalous rendezvousing were among her go-to hobbies.

Inside, she had to stop and gape at the room. It was no ordinary guest chamber, and definitely put hers to shame. Who else had this room been set aside for if not a king, she wondered? In a corner next to the fireplace sat a desk, and sitting partly on the edge of it was Thorin with a piece of parchment sitting in his hand. He looked incredibly casual; Cori had no idea he was capable of such a thing. When he looked up, he grinned broadly. “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

“Naw. Only took away your nephew’s chewtoy, and the toy is grateful. Dignity dangled by a thin thread.” She hopped up on the desk next to him and craned her neck to see. “More dwarf government jargon I wouldn’t be able to understand? They’ve certainly got you running around in circles.”

He sighed. “I grew weary of this when I still lived in these mountains, and it has not come any easier in recent days. Shame on me for thinking the Arkenstone would be a magical fix to it.”

“So nothing yet?”

“Nothing is set in stone quite yet, except the new lord. The council elected Arin, cousin of Avin, and I concented. He will do Durmark well in the absence of his kin. He has agreed to seek out Men to help. Rohan is our first option, but we’d like to investigate the origins of these attackers first before we call on anyone. I might also inquire upon Bard of Dale. Of all Men, I trust him the most. However, Dale still reels from the battle and the dragon, and he has fewer soldiers to spare than Erebor does, so I am reluctant to ask.”

“How very ambitious of you to suggest asking aid from Men to begin with.”

He smirked. “The world is changing, and so must I. Old grudges must be set aside for the good of my people. I only have one exception to this.”

“Elves?”

“Elves.”

She guffawed, flicking his arm with her finger. “We can work up to that eventually. You’ll see their worth eventually, if you managed to see worth in hobbits.”

“I have only ever had good results from dealing with hobbits. I’ve yet to be impressed by elves.”

“They saved my life, so I suppose I’m called to promote them.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Indeed?”

She nodded. “Snake bite, the first time I tried to cross the Misty Mountains. Golly, I was so young and foolish then, it was a wonder I’d lived that long. Lord Elrond healed me in Rivendell. When you and I first met there, I had just finished paying my debt to him. Made me get some inexpensive jewels from the dwarves for something, I don’t know. I guess he had to get creative since I had little to offer but furs then.”

He looked off to the side. “That was…noble.”

“I’d call it astronomically sublime, but sure, that works, too.” Nothing much more worthy of praise than sparing the life of a little mite taking on Middle-earth all by her lonesome.

After staring for a bit, lashes fluttering a few times, he shook himself from the daze and held out the paper. “Well, I confess that this isn’t actually from the council. It is for you.”

She glanced back and forth between him and the sheet. “Me? What is it?”

“A contract.”

Her mouth fell open, the paper dropping to her lap with it. “Another one?”

He grinned. “The first one expired when you left us in Bree. The stipulations were that we get you across the Misty Mountains until your path divulged from ours. Besides, I…burned it.”

Her laughter leaked with a snort. “When you were drunk?”

He nodded stiffly. “Aye.”

Her leaving really seemed to set him off. “All right. Why would I need a new one?”

“ _This_ one labels you as an official member of the company. You will have a say in every decision that’s made, and fall under the legal protection of the other group members once again. However, you must accept my authority as leader.”

She hissed. “Ooh, those are some steep commitments.”

“Proceed with caution.” His devious face looked uncomfortably like his nephews.

_Sound advice, probably,_ she thought when she realized how close she sat to him. “Oh, poppycock. It’s not as if I haven’t already been doing that.”

“And it has been appreciated.” That crooked smile had her wanting to toss care to the wind. His gratitude always came subtly, even among the other dwarves. Some may interpret that as ungratefulness, but the advantage came with knowing him. Each member of his company was valued, and he held respect for all for their willingness to drop their new lives in the Lonely Mountain and follow him; in the case of three of them, once again. Her place within them would be much different to any caravan she had ever joined. She would be regarded earnestly.

She held out her hand for the quill resting between his fingers. He passed it over, eyes bright and pleased. As she scrawled her sloppy signature for a second time on a dwarven document, she realized that she was actually wanted. She had a place, for the time being. It made her giddy.

“Just know I’ll be objecting to every decision you make,” she said after blowing on the ink and handing the parchment back to her.

He chuckled. “Well, at least it’ll make me rethink whether or not they’re good decisions.”

Great idea, putting her on impulse control. Her record was impeccable, after all. “I wouldn’t count on a high success rate.”

“I trust you.”

She resisted a visible flinch at the transparency of his face. It was true. Every recent moment they spent alone, his guard was down. He lost the rigidness that he usually set into his spine and face. It was impossible not to notice after spending many months looking at the unbending king she followed. It made her happy just as much as it caused discomfort. Even though she ran him over the coals for it, he had been right in Bree. He did not truly know her.

After dripping some wax from the candle on the desk onto the paper next to his signature, he pressed the ring of his right index finger into it. He watched the seal dry with a grin. “There. It is done.”

_I hope we both don’t regret this._

                  **************************

Over the next couple of days, negotiations continued. Finally, a true consensus seemed to be in sight. As the current location of the human attackers was unknown, the dwarves were forced to lay low and wait until the enemy revealed themselves again. Thorin opted out of calling on King Bard, but warned the council to be ready to send a summons to Rohan first with all the details of what was happening to Men along the East Road. Cori suggested asking the Rangers of the North, those who were not guarding the Shire, that is. Thorin put it forward in court, and it dropped into the pot of options. However, it was clear he was frustrated that their hands were tied at the moment.

“I’ve got another suggestion of someone to call upon,” she said as she watched him pace across the outdoor walkway with fingers scratching through his beard.

His eyes briefly flickered to her. “Yes?”

“A doctor. Because you’re going to work and stress yourself into a comatose state if you keeping going on like this. Or maybe Dís to come knock some sense into you about, I don’t know, _patience._ ”

“You have never had countless lives resting in your hands, Cori. It is not a trifling matter to decide on a whim. I don’t find the stakes funny.”

She clenched her jaw. She wondered when she would overstep. “Sorry.”

He sighed when he noticed her face, placing a hand on her arm. “Forgive me. You’re right. I must think straight or I am going to let my restlessness get the better of me. It is difficult to sit and do nothing.”

Her eyes widened. “We don’t have to.”

He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“We’re starved for information, aren’t we? We hardly know a thing about these Men. Well, who also is starving for something other than information?”

He listened intently to her plan.

A week later, new supplies and many cartloads of food were brought in from a nearby city that the Men and orcs left untouched, courtesy of Erebor’s treasury. Though Durmark itself had very little food to spare, as its sparse winter supply slowly grew thin, volunteers promptly shut down their shops and signed up to take the food to cities further north that they knew took hard hits from the attacks. The council attempted to convince Thorin to allow the volunteers to take care of that work and that he should remain in the heavily-guarded walls of the capital. However, his mind was set on personally seeing to the welfare of his people, not just sitting behind and handing out the orders. No one could _make_ him do anything, of course, so the Erebor company set out with the train the day after the supplies arrived, the first day of March.

They were spared the troubles of blizzards as they traversed the treacherous, winding paths deep within the mountains, only having to bundle up beneath a small spattering of snow every few nights. Cori had grown weary of winter and its scourges already, but she had little to complain about when two eager dwarves squished her between them and draped furs over her. With the gentle light of the fire playing across the troop and the intoxicating warmth lulling her to sleep, she thought she could almost find enjoyment in these last few weeks of winter.

The pace was slow with wagons and more people, but they seemed to be making good time anyway. Many thanks for that were extended to dwarven ingenuity. Cori had never had to really deal with cutting through the mountains; after stopping at maybe two cities to sell her wares, her stock ran out and she had to return to the lowlands where the wildlife roamed. For the first time, she witnessed how the dwarves managed to keep in touch with each other.

Over their many millennia of living in Ered Luin, they had carved stable, easily passable roads around cliff sides of steeper ridges. The paths were often wide enough for two wagons to roll abreast, and short walls made of varying shapes of rocks lined the edges that posed the most threat to wandering feet. But that was certainly not where the innovativeness ended.

“Is that a tunnel?”

A large archway, almost tall enough to be the gate into a city, cut a hole into the side of a mountain, two high statues standing guard on either side of it. While it may have been mistaken for a city, she could see directly through it to the other side.

“The Half Bridge,” Kíli informed her.

“It’s only halfway finished?”

He shook his head with a grin. “Oh, no, it’s been finished for thousands of years. It separates the northern half of this range of Ered Luin to the southern half. There’s a similar one in the larger range north of the Gulf of Lune. One branch of the River Lhûn begins on the eastern side of the mountains, but if the river went all the way through, the tunnel would bisect it, almost exactly in the middle of the range. It is said that Durin himself walked across that one.”

“Which Durin?”

Fíli scoffed. “Ha. The fifth, if I remember correctly.”

“Poor Balin,” Kíli chuckled with absolutely no remorse to correspond with his words. “He had such a hard time getting us to pay attention to stuff like that.”

“You two just wanted to get your hands on some swords, even if they were made o’ wood,” Dwalin said from ahead of them. “Just another couple o’ lads who had to be promised time in the ring as incentive to get your studies done.”

“The histories of the dwarves have some charm to them,” Cori admitted. “A little more interesting than the Shire. Hobbits go way back, but anything before the founding of the Shire really doesn’t get a whole lot of attention. As you might imagine, much hasn’t really happened in that time. You want to talk about boring lessons.”

“Our histories are a neat thing, lass, and we’re proud of our accomplishments. But I don’t know a dwarf who doesn’t wish we’d never gone through half of it. You might get some that are envious of your sleepy tales.”

As they crossed through the tunnel to the other side, Cori realized the weight of his words. While she knew very little of the dwarves’ history in comparison to how extensive it actually was, much of what she had picked up were more unfavorable events than the heroic affairs of warriors. They had much to be proud of, but a great number of setbacks sprinkled in there. The dwarves had been fighting for their place in this world for ages.

And she thought she had it tough.

Within two and a half days, they reached the next city.

“The Men came here first,” a Durmark representative, Doch, explained. “When they attacked us, we managed to disband them significantly, sparing many of the southern cities from having any real threat. But the smaller, northern cities took the brunt of the force, when they were more organized.”

“So they came from the north,” Thorin affirmed.

“Aye. Swept through like a rockslide.”

What was left in their wake was nothing short of such destruction. As they passed through the gate into the main hall, Cori lost her breath. The walls were charred black, the grand tapestries that once hung from them now tattered and burnt. Dwarves stood on scaffolding, resetting wooden support beams.

“It’s taken them this long to clean up the debris enough to actually start repairing,” Doch explained when they dismounted their ponies. Immediately, those with the carts began passing out supplies and tools to the workers that flocked like birds.

“Where are all the women?” Cori asked, glancing around at the empty vending stalls.

“Some are in Durmark, some in Nord just five miles east of here. Business isn’t strong enough to support families at the moment. Arkhun is a coal city. The Men set fire to the mines, which caused an explosion, hence the smoke-blackened walls. Many of the apartments collapsed into the mines after the supports were destroyed, so the living quarters are sparse. It is only by bolstering from other cities that they have been able to do any reconstruction whatsoever. For a while, they considered abandoning it, but it is the main supplier of coal in the south, so they figured they could bounce back again quickly once it was made livable again.”

“What were the casualties?” Thorin asked, a blank mask over his face as he surveyed the damage.

“Numerous,” Doch replied grimly. “The enemy sought to kill, and that’s what they did. Many of these dwarves aren’t even residents.”

As they set out on the road again after resupplying the workers and leaving them with some food, Cori kept her eyes to the ground. She tried to come up with a reason why anybody would desire to attack a colony of hard-working people in their homes and completely eradicate them. Of course, she expected to end at a loss. There was no reasoning, no excuse, no morality. Just barbarism. And she could not get out of her head the idea that she knew who was capable of committing such atrocities without remorse. She had seen this before. She prayed with all her mind’s might that she was wrong.

Nord sustained fewer deaths and less destruction, as they did not produce such deadly material as coal. Their mines, however, had been collapsed. Some tunnels were open and back in business, but the city mostly relied on its crafts. As soon as the weather warmed, venders would set out for villages of Men and even the Shire to earn enough money to feed themselves and their refugees. The lord welcomed the company with enthusiasm and offered them a place to stay for the night before their journey continued on.

Fíli and Kíli forewent any political meetings that Thorin opted to have with the leaders of Nord. They felt useless sitting in a bunch of old chairs listening to their uncle give a speech about what they heard over and over in Durmark. Instead, they decided to oversee the supply carts and the food that would be given to the masses. While their avoidance of the meeting completely hampered Thorin’s reasoning for having them on this journey in the first place, he grinned when they informed him of their plans. “They know what it is like to be without,” he said to Cori as he watched them divide the volunteers so everyone would have an equal chance at a hand-out. “It has given them humility that will serve them better in their future roles than any number of court meetings could ever teach them. I could never discourage their compassion for the poor.”

Not for the first time, Cori noted that Erebor would be in good hands for many years to come.

She decided to assist them, needing something to relieve the restless itch in her hands. After divulging her occupation, she happily set to work sewing furs into blankets. When the dwarves noted her swift and tight stitches, they inquired if she would do any tailoring, too. How could she refuse? So she sat back with a couple of fox furs and watched the volunteers bring immediate relief to the desperate refugees and their hosts. Her cheeks ached from smiling so much, and she tried to ignore the prickle in her eyes. The sight nearly moved her to tears.

“It’s a good thing we got here when we did,” Kíli commented as he hopped up onto the wagon next to her, eyes taking in the goings-on. “They said their winter stock was almost used up, and that they were about to set out for other cities to petition for a donation or loan of food. The flood from Arkhun really put a strain on them.”

“Kind of sad that they didn’t expect help,” Cori murmured.

“Why would they?” Fíli replied, leaning up against the cart with his arms crossed. He still looked to be in business mode. “Dwarves have never been offered aid, and quite frankly, they’d refuse if it wasn’t a dire emergency. We adapt without it, and there’s no need to collect debt.”

“Of course, it’s not entirely a foolproof strategy,” Kíli chuckled. “Look what happened to Thorin and the dwarves of Erebor after the dragon attacked. Given a snub by Thranduil, and they decided they’d rather wander in poverty for decades than beg.”

“Really? You’d consider stooping so low as to beg from _elves_?”

“If my family was dying of starvation, I’d do a lot of things I wouldn’t otherwise be comfortable with.”

“What would you do, Cori?” Fíli turned to her with a grin. “If your family was threatened like that?”

Her quick fingers paused, and her throat worked, though she tried to conceal it. Her smile was tight. “Whatever it took, lad.”

Kíli gestured to her with a decisive nod.

“Well,” Fíli said with a shrug, “we can’t really know what we would or would not do in that situation. We could go back and forth all day, but the evidence is there. Thorin brought the dwarves of Durin out of poverty, then took the next step by giving them back their home. A lot went right even when it went wrong at the same time, and we certainly can’t fault him for doing what he could in the meanwhile.”

Kíli snorted. “We got lucky. There were several ways it could have been handled.”

“Are you saying he was wrong for doing it?”

“For getting the mountain back? Mahal, no! That _had_ to be done, no question. Refusing to seek out help between losing it and returning to it was a little petty. Not all elves are Thranduil, but you should know that, seeing as you’ve been everywhere I’ve been _._ ”

Cori sensed the tension rising in their little triangle. She decided to take their attention off each other, considering the last time they were at each other’s throats it took Thorin to physically separate them before they calmed down. Best not to let these struggling people see their princes in a minor sibling dispute with each other when more pressing matters were at hand. “Was it really so bad after Smaug?”

Fíli nodded. “The dwarves had to flee for their lives. No time to gather valuables that could have bought food. They wandered for many, many years with nowhere to actually call home. When Kíli and I were born, they had finally settled in Dunland for a time, but that didn’t last long. We came here to the Blue Mountains next, and this is where we stayed until we set out for Erebor again.”

“With Thráin and Thrór gone, Thorin had to take up the mantle of king at only a hundred while still trying to support us as a blacksmith,” Kíli continued. “Adad died when we were young, and Thorin helped Amad until we could actually live comfortably. He was gone a lot during our childhood, even though most of our people were settled in our halls at that time. I don’t think he could stand sitting in there for very long, and he used work as an excuse. Which, you know, we can’t blame him. After finally seeing a fraction of what Erebor used to look like, I couldn’t imagine trying to settle anywhere else. There’s a magic to it.”

Fíli nodded with a musing grin on his face. “An ancient allure that’s imbedded in the stone itself. It’s a wonder the dwarves left so long ago to head to Ered Mithrim, but easy to understand why Thrór brought them back after the dragons attacked instead of going on to the Iron Hills with Grór.”

“Only to have it ripped out of their hands two centuries later,” Kíli grumbled. “It’s a waiting game for the next siege, I tell you.”

“Not a worry, brother.” The blond prince placed a strong hand on the other’s shoulder. “We have it back now, and Mahal strike us down if we ever let it go again.”

Their own conversation about old stories they heard of the Lonely Mountain in its most prosperous years continued. Cori listened, but remained distracted enough for their words to pass over her without much coherency, only grinning when they looked at her. As they talked on and on about their home, she could not ignore their inherent enthusiasm over actually having a home. They grew up listening to their histories that were full of tragedy and loss; it had not seemed to occur to them that they could actually _have_ something back that had been taken from them. The dwarves were cursed to _lose_ helplessly, whether that be their homes and halls or their lives.

And now somebody was trying to take something again. When would enough ever be enough?

That night, as they sat around the table in the lord’s dining hall with small rations for their evening meal, Cori looked at her companions and realized that they were all victims, now and in the past, of things entirely out of their control. Thranduil had abandoned them, and the Men had never been of any help. There was no justice for them; they had to go out and get it themselves.

She had all the evidence laid out before her over the past few months. Now it was time to fully accept it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. The conversation stopped, and the company turned to look at her.

“You say somethin’, lass?” Dwalin asked, entirely oblivious to the anguish that had taken her. Thorin, however, seemed to catch on and watched her intently with a concerned crease in his brow.

“I said I’m sorry,” she repeated, taking a sip of the ale to quench her dry throat. “And it’s long overdue, I’m afraid. I’ve always thought of dwarves as warmongers, chasing after the thrill of battle with an insatiable lust. But I see that you’ve had no choice. This place, and Arkhun, and Durmark, are the proof. You have to be ready for when the threat comes, because it _will_ come. That’s no fault of yours, and I’m sorry for ever thinking that you wanted to involve yourselves in war, because Yavanna knows I’m guilty of thinking it more times than I’m comfortable admitting.”

The confession came out of nowhere, and the dwarves sat stumped with trying to figure out where it came from. But when it finally hit them, they grumbled with disagreements.

“Never got that impression from ya, lass,” Dwalin replied with a more sincere face now. “You’ve had reason to resent us, as you’ve mentioned many a-times. No offense taken, none at all.”

The others nodded their enthusiastic agreements, punctuating it with bright, broad smiles. Thorin grinned appreciatively, reaching over to pat her hand tenderly. “Truly.”

She never felt more undeserving of their forgiveness, and so ready to spill everything on her chest just because _they_ deserved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things'll be a bit slow plotwise for a while, but enjoy some lovely interactions with the dwarves. Updates may speed up, though, as next week is finals week. I'm so happy I'll finally be able to actually take classes that pertain to my major in the fall. Gen Ed's a pain in the butt. Anyway, it's late and I've had a rough day, so happy weekend! :)
> 
> Feedback is always welcome and appreciated. You guys have been beyond generous so far. Thank you! <3


	17. A Leaf on a Breeze

The company made two more stops in the southern range of the Blue Mountains, finding little difference to what they left in Nord. Cities slowly rebuilt themselves, and as the heavy snows had finally begun to wane from many of their passes, the people were no longer confined to the prisons of their own desolate homes. Aid could reach them and they could leave to seek it out where need be the most imperative.  

The supplies in their wagons lasted only so long. Once they had to resort to scraping the bottom of the barrel, the volunteers decided to head back to Durmark. They planned to return to their work once they restocked, but the king and his troop would continue north. There, they were told they would find many more cities that needed next to nothing, as they held a stronger defense against their attackers than the smaller settlements. However, the heavy purse they defended so readily along their journey needed to be put to use. Thorin would not leave the West until he personally saw that his remaining kin in the mountains did not struggle, and he received a stalwart concord.

Fifteen days after departing from Durmark, the original company of twelve descended from the mountains into the Lune river valley. No more sidling along treacherous cliffs and battling the blistering wind that slammed the sides of the mountains at all times. There was even a bit of dry grass, which kept Cori content as they left behind the rock pathways. Soon, these fields would all be green and the trees would be lush again. Even amidst the grey tumult of their mission, there was still room to acknowledge the little colorful details. Cori found they made the road ahead look just a little less bleak.

In the meantime, they basked in what they had been given. The journey seemed easier than it had been so far as they traversed the round hills. Shadow, along with the other ponies, was immensely excited about not having to be confined to narrow paths anymore and begged for a bit of a run. Cori, unable to deny him, made up the excuse of scouting ahead. About a half a mile in front of the company, she crested a knoll looking deep into a sloping valley. At the very bottom, surrounded by high cliffs, was the first sign of civilization in almost a week.

“We’ve reached the Grey Havens,” she reported back to Thorin.

He nodded. “Thank you. We’re not far from the ford, then.”

She cocked her head, her suspicions rising. Was he about to argue what she thought he was? “Ford? I’m sure we can barter passage across the river for a good price. Remember the last time your elf phobia almost cost us?”

“If I remember correct, lass,” Dwalin called up to them, “you bartered none, only gave ‘em their first demands.”

“You’d have probably ended up in their dungeons again if I hadn’t, so I’d call it successful bartering.”

“We can easily avoid this one,” Thorin said without looking at her.

Cori threw her hands up, slapping them down on her saddle. “You’d really go through all that trouble just to avoid a couple of elves? Look, your antipathy for them was amusing at first, but now you’re just being ridiculous. Weren’t you the one spurring all the way to get here because your kin were in distress?”

“The situation is no longer dire. We continue on north, and that is the end of it.”

She huffed her hair from her face. _You did this to yourself,_ she thought when she wondered why she had to endure this. _This is all your fault. Live with the consequences of your decisions._

_He still has a pretty face, though._

Losing only three days following the riverbank, they found a narrow part of the water. And something much, much worse than any bloodthirsty Men or filthy orcs.

“No.”

Thorin raised a brow. “What?”

“I’m not going on _that._ ”

He glanced between her and the shore, entirely puzzled. “You suggested we take a boat from the elven harbor. Why is this any different?”

“The craftsmanship of the elves I trust, even if you don’t. _This_? This is a plank.”

That thing had to be less sturdy than the Buckleberry Ferry, which sat poorly with her anyway. Two traders loaded up the barge with their wares, each box and barrel causing it to sink further into the water. Their wagon and horses were on it, looking all of two seconds away from toppling over into the murky Lune. Forget it. She would never accept money to go anywhere near it.

“ _This_ is your alternative?” she asked, her voice lacking the bite it had a moment earlier.

“Well, I had not anticipated the traders, but this will certainly save us money.”

She took a shaky breath, her mind whirling frantically. When he mentioned a ford, she expected ankle-deep shallows. There had to be some alternative.

“Cori.” A hand lay on her cheek, jerking her attention to the dwarf leaning in front of her. “I would not take this company over something I found untrustworthy. I have used this ferry many times in the past. I promise you there is no more danger in it than any other vessel.”

No telling whether it was the soft look in his eyes or the tender touch of his hand to her cheek that convinced her to follow him onto the boat, but she did. Every instinct begged her not to condemn herself to certain death, but with a hard grip on Shadow’s reins, she stepped onto the creaking wood.

The most charming persuasion would never get her to go anywhere near the edge, though.

By the time everything had been brought aboard, the passengers of the raft stood in a couple inches of water. However, that would not stop progress. “We’ll get ‘er across,” one of the traders cackled as he and his partner pushed the boat out into the water. “Ain’t never seen this thing capsize afore, no matter what was on ‘er. She’ll get there.”

Cori pressed the side of her head to Shadow’s neck, trying to keep her eyes on the far shore and her hands from shaking. She pretended there were walls on all sides of the ferry rather than just a straight dip into the water. Sunlight filtered only a few inches into the water; how easy it would be on a cloudy day or at night to loose one’s way in it and never finding the surface until… She bit her lip, closing her hand tighter over the clump of grey mane in its grip.

“Every word,” she murmured when she felt someone come up beside her, caring little for who it was. “Every word I said about wasting time, I take it back. We should have gone further north to the ford at Emyn Uial.”

A soft sigh came with a small laugh, and a large hand engulfed her free one. She turned to find a grinning blond prince standing next to her, his other hand rising to lay on her shoulder. “It won’t be long, I promise.” With his broad body, Fíli blocked her view of the water. _Oh, perfect._ The cold still seeped into her boots, but the impending nausea sank away.

He did not judge.

After almost an hour of paddling, the boat docked on the other side. With all dwarves, hobbits, and ponies unloaded, the company remounted and turned northwest again. They bid the traders goodbye, leaving them to settle their affairs at their own pace. Cori settled comfortably in her saddle once again, silently reveling in the familiarity and solace of dry land. She said nothing until they camped a few hours later.

“We have not had good experiences with rivers and floating vessels either,” Kíli explained as they indulged in their evening meal of roasted pheasant with diced potatoes. He and Fíli proceeded to tell her the tale of their river adventure escaping from King Thranduil’s dungeon in barrels. Fíli shivered when remembering the horrible sickness he was seized by after the overpowering stench of apples followed him all the way down the rapids. Then they told her about the fish. All four of those on the Erebor quest shivered. Cori nearly choked when her mind conjured up the image of these regal dwarves stuffed into barrels piled high with fish just to sneak into Lake-town.

“Good to know you find our suffering funny,” Thorin teased, slipping his piece of bread onto her plate as nonchalantly as he could. Her consuming hunger tonight prevented her from tossing it back.

“It is. The mighty dwarves of Erebor brought low by fish. I must ask Bard about his side of the story.”

“Lies. All of it. Guaranteed.”

Cori shook her head at Dwalin. “Well, I suppose I don’t have much room to make fun. The water is no hobbit’s favorite place to be. It’s just…worse for me. The hobbits of Buckland pride themselves on their use of boats, and we certainly have plied that to our advantage. No better place to find a fresh trout than Buckleberry, they say. I just…can’t do it.” Her fear of the deep water began and perpetuated even when she jumped into the Brandywine to rescue a cousin caught in the current. She conquered it and saved someone’s life, but she could never get over tumbling through the strong rush or staring down into the darkness of the frightful depths. Even the thought made her shudder.

“You’re a hobbit of great stature,” Ion admitted, “for all you lack in _actual_ stature. Anyone who’s got the nerve to come in and give you a hard time over something like that hasn’t the nerve to look at ‘imself closely enough. That’s the real coward, if you’re gettin’ at what I think you are.”

The company agreed.

“You faced your fears, Cori,” Fíli offered with a smile. “You got on that ferry, even when it nearly made you sick. That counts for something, and don’t let anyone ever keep you from reveling in the small victories.”

Quite bittersweet, all that support. Had they forgotten that she had not taken any true dangers head-on? She was overtaken and nearly driven to crippling panic by the orcs on their way back from the battlefield outside of Erebor. Her solution to the attack south of the Shire was to climb a tree. To a band of warriors, she was anything but brave. They saw something in her, and for that she was appreciative, as she did not feel the true test came with how often she faced such aimless danger. But it was what they did not know that soured the gesture. She _was_ a coward, in the truest sense of the word.

“I hope you gave Bilbo due credit for his plan,” she curved away from her despondent thoughts. “I’m sure he would’ve chosen to leave you all to rot in chains rather than jump in the river.”

“He was very much praised for it,” Thorin replied with a fond smile. “I was…surprised, to say the least, that he was able to free us so easily. To this day, he has not revealed how he could set up such a thing all beneath the noses of the elves; I will concede that it is difficult to slip by them under normal circumstances.”

“They were feasting,” Kíli explained. “Drunk, probably.”

“It opened up a door that I had not considered before,” Thorin continued, an interesting gleam in his eye and equally compelling grin to match. “A hidden nature to hobbits, aside from the peaceful, homely beings they present themselves as. There is a strength to you all that I’m sure could conquer kingdoms, if given the right incentive.”

Cori snorted, mostly as a cover-up to the tingles crawling around in her stomach. He had not taken his intrigued gaze off her. “Hobbits already have all the kingdom they need, if you ask one. Most would be content to keep things the way they are. Change is also high on the list of things they’re skeptical about.”

“ _You_ don’t seem to be,” Kíli jumped in again.

“It’s scary, I’ll admit, but there’s also much to learn from it. A lot to gain, if you keep an open eye.”

“Very true.” Thorin nodded. “Very true, indeed.”

_Now, if you’d just follow that little tidbit of advice you seem so eager to agree with_ , she wanted to say in jest but chose to keep the hypocrisy to herself. What a concept, selling herself as the epitome of wisdom. Most of these dwarves had been fully grown long before her parents were even born. What did she know?

_How to put on a mask._ Oh, yes. Because the real Cori Houndberry was the hobbit terrified of boats.

In the quiet hours after dark, when the dwarves lingered between cleaning their weapons and dozing, Thorin offered his pipe to her once again. The weed was different from the last time, and a little bitterer, poorly configuring to her tastes. But she puffed a few breaths anyway, unwilling to deny the gesture. There was something self-satisfying about sharing a pipe with him, and she wanted to laugh aloud at the petty reasoning. _I wonder what it would be like to taste the real thing,_ she thought as she placed her lips where his were a moment earlier.

“You continue to surprise me, Miss Houndberry.”

She snorted, nearly coughing on her inhale. “What have I done now?”

He tsked. “So quick to put up a defensive.” When she opened her mouth to retort, he held up a hand. “I know you’re about to turn this on me once again. Let me assure you I _know._ ”

She shook her head. They seemed to be figuring a lot of things out about each other now. So why was it so hard to convince herself to take the leap and do what she had desired for a long while now? Might his reaction be so bad? “I’m rather boring, I like to think,” she replied, handing him back his pipe. His hand was warm where it brushed hers.

“Now there’s where you’re wrong.” He blew a long draft, placing the pipe beside him. “I am intrigued by a hobbit of the Shire who so often speaks fondly of her home yet does not live there.”

“First of all, Buckland is not actually part of the Shire.”

“And it is better off for it, so I hear, as they seem to be fairly prepared for war while using effective means to make good, prosperous lives for themselves in the meanwhile. Flowing hills of green, birdsong, and clear streams? Seems perfect for you.”

She jerked her head up, clambering for the words to reply with. He remembered. That night of singing next to the Anduin seemed like a lifetime ago.

“That song you sang, and claimed to have written, was about you, wasn’t it?”

She glanced down, her thumbs twiddling. She had not actually expected him to have been listening when she sang. “A leaf doesn’t choose where it’s taken. It just…goes.”

“What is this wind carrying you?”

“Does a leaf actually know what wind is?”

A small laugh snuffled out of him. “Well, that’s about as much of a ‘mind your own business’ as I’ve ever heard.”

She grinned her agreement.

“If I tell you something about me, will you give up something as well?”

“Certainly. It just won’t be the answer to your question.”

“So stubborn, you are. Let me try again, then. Do you regret it?”

“I’m not entirely sure what ‘it’ is.”

“Leaving the Shire,” he clarified with a dignified roll of his eyes. “When you were young. Do you wish you could go back?”

“What’s the point? I can’t. I’m stuck out in the wilderness with my backpack and my pony. I made do with the hand I’ve been given. With the wind that sets me on my course.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Of course, Thorin!” she hissed between her teeth, glancing toward the others to make sure they had not heard or stirred. “It’s my home. It’s where I was born. Not all of us have as simple a thing as a dragon to conquer in order to return to where we belong.”

At least then, she would not be left wondering if there was a chance, somehow.

Thorin did not immediately reply, and that was both welcome and unsettling. His eyes fell onto the company, glancing between each member. After a moment, he let out a soft sigh. “I know how to wander,” he finally said. “I know what it is to go from one place to another, never satisfied, always longing for something you can’t have. Even at my lowest, I let myself strive toward what my grandfather and my father before me wanted. I had hope that Erebor would be ours again. It was an impossible goal at the time, but a goal nonetheless. If I understand you correctly, you do not have one. This will be your life until an unstoppable force takes you from it, whether that be the animals you hunt or time.”

She huffed. “That sounds about right.”

“Then let that be your goal. Do what you enjoy, and if you take joy from your business, nothing should stop you. Build your reputation. Have customers longing for your wares. Throw your heart and soul into it, and you will find the answer you seek along the way.”

He spoke of success. Of a flourishing business swimming in coin. It seemed like logical advice, if one were a dwarf. For some dwarves, their trade was everything, even more important than seeking a partner. It would make sense that he would expect her to find happiness in hers. She had been trading furs for just over a decade now. The experience was fun, and the payoff from her hard work was pleasing to see. But it had never left her fully satisfied. Long ago, she decided that that was just how life was. It could never be perfect. Yes, it was sound advice. It would bring some closure to her, at least.

She gently bumped her shoulder to his arm, grinning at him. “Thank you.”

He nodded, looking rather pleased with himself. Even if she intended to, she could not let his thoughtfulness go to waste and ruin his accomplishment. It was rather adorable.

Thorin. Adorable. By Durin’s beard…

“Um…” That made her pause. The King Under the Mountain never stuttered. She watched closely as his hand reached into his coat, pulling something from it. “I found this in the woods along the river earlier today. It is the first I’ve seen of the season. I thought…a hobbit might take joy in an early-blooming flower.”

_Oh_

In his hand sat an herb, actually. But to his credit, it did have little white flowers blooming off of it.

_Giver, lend me strength,_

Cori took the plant, feeling like her face was going to burst into flames along with the rest of her body. Oh, she might have to brave the obscure waters of the Lune to douse herself from this.

_He doesn’t know,_ she repeated to herself as she attempted to suppress her embarrassed and dazed snickers behind her hand, very pathetically. It is as he said, a flower he saw in the woods _and thought of her when picking it._ But he did not know what it was. No, absolutely not. If he did, he would not have that innocent, rosy expression as he awaited her reaction.

But that hardly stopped _her_ from knowing it.

She tried her hardest to stop the laughs, but they were too strong. This could not be happening. His bewildered face made her laugh harder. “Cori?”

She waved her hand, trying to stall him so her giggles would fizzle out. “Sorry, I just…” _Hold it together now_

“What?” he urged, looking slightly concerned and irritated.

“You paid very close attention to my singing, but I see you missed my lesson about flowers.”

He shook his head. “You said you were very fond of them.”

“Oh, yes, very. One of my favorite things in the world. But the most important part of my chat with your nephews seems to have escaped you. Flowers have a language. Each one means a certain thing, and they are used to convey messages to others, whether good or bad in nature.”

He suddenly looked very nervous, glancing back and forth between her and the plant as if waiting for it to bite her. This was too rich. “And that one means…”

She held the small bloom she picked from the bunch, twirling it around her finger and thumb. The smirk on her face was not at all a voluntary response. “This is coriander. A tasty seasoning for some foods, and a favorite amongst the finest cooks of the Shire. And you’ve essentially invited me to bed with it.”

The skin above his beard grew bright red, and his mouth fell agape. Horrified would best describe the look in his eyes, which fluttered repeatedly under his soft lashes. Then something shifted in them. The initial terror gave way to a peculiar confusion. She had no idea what he could possibly be puzzling through, but she dared not take her gaze off him. When at last he spoke, his voice nearly growled. “I…I didn’t…”

She giggled, growing warm again. “Of course not. I wouldn’t expect you to. I know what you meant. If anything, you just picked up a little snack. A very nutritional one, so thank you.” She rambled, but honestly, she hardly knew what to do with herself when he sat with the same expression on his face for so long. Would it be in poor taste to take a bite out of his gift right in front of him?

Finally, he literally shook himself from his stupor, and a playful grin took its place. “You’re welcome.” He reached down to take the hand not holding the plant, and he slowly brought it to the sly curve of his lips. Then the bristles of his moustache danced over her knuckles, and the world suddenly spun around her. It was a warm, gentle press against her fingers, but she felt it as if it were happening to her entire body. She stared with entrancement at the way his eyes drifted closed. He looked completely relaxed. He pulled away just slightly, gaze lifting to her face.

Everything transformed then. The softness of his face stiffened, and his eyes sharpened. Not bitterly or angrily, but as if he had just realized where he was. He straightened quickly, jaw clenched tightly. But he set her hand back down on her lap as gingerly as possible, retreating from it immediately. “You’re welcome,” he repeated, getting up to march off into the trees. Cori stayed where she sat, staring down at both hands and the gift left in each: one seen and one only she could know was there.Some things would never be clear, she decided. Not her path in life, and certainly not this fantasy swirling around in her young mind. But there was one thing she could decide on at the moment. Her desires would remain hers, and her heart would stay in her chest where it belonged. She hardly needed to be rejected twice.

               *****************************

The journey continued on schedule. However, Cori could feel her feet dragging just a bit.

She tried with all her might to pretend as if nothing had happened. Ever vigilant, their companions would surely catch on to any descent in her general mood. And she truly did not want to clue Thorin in on how their awkward exchange had actually affected her. She needed to be nonchalant. It was difficult, returning to the level of enthusiasm she had since taking off from Durmark. The worst part was engaging in conversation with him when each time she heard his voice directed at her, she felt a pang in her chest.

Thorin’s lightheartedness that he seemed to gain when talking with her mellowed somewhat. He was friendly, but professional, and that left a deeper impression on her than anything else. She enjoyed their unique conversations filled with fun banter and (at least from her) not-so-subtle flirtations dotted here and there. Now it was as if he were anybody else in the group. She longed for nothing more than to never have had that conversation that night.

She was bound to the company, by contract and by the comradery she had built with them that she was not ready to part with. The journey would continue until they were done.

The snow made one last effort to stick around in the higher parts of Ered Luin. As much as it tried to bury the company beneath relentless drifts, they made it to their destination before the worst of the storm could sweep over. The first stop on their tour of upper Ered Luin was the little settlement where Thorin and his Lonely Mountain refugees came to rest sometime after Smaug’s attack so long ago. Ereven, however, was no longer the tiny hole in the side of a cliff he found all those years ago. Hours, days, and years of hard labor bore dwarvish halls so bounteous, some of its inhabitants refused to leave even after Erebor was reclaimed. Their heritage was sacred to them, but their comfortable establishment in their new home was too much to give up.

“I’m glad they stayed,” Thorin admitted to her as they rode through the center street after passing the entrance gate. His eyes twinkled in gratification. “It would be a shame to see all this go to waste.”

She agreed, sharing in his fervor in spite of herself.

As lord of the halls, Thorin had clearly taken aspects from his now-reclaimed childhood home and tried to replicate it here. Without the exquisite dark green stone, the finished product was slightly lacking, though she would never tell any of them that. He had really done heaps for his people, even when he himself struggled to survive. This was a temporary symbol of hope created for the dwarves to know that their ancient abode would not be lost forever. And on top of that, he nearly sacrificed himself to see his kin returned what was rightfully theirs despite opposition and with only a handful of volunteers to see it done. Selfless. A real dwarf of honor. She felt so small next to him.

“How does it feel to be home?” she asked when she caught the young princes gazing around reverently. Once their ponies had been placed in the stables, they decided to walk around the grand front hall lined with pillar and statues.

“We knew we’d come back one day,” Fíli replied. “It feels just like that: coming home. It wasn’t long after Azanulbizar that Thorin decided to seek out the mountains. He didn’t want us anywhere near Moria, even though we won the battle. I believe I was fifteen when Thorin finally moved us here after making this place inhabitable and personally carving out our apartments. I remember easily that we journeyed here during the summer, probably because no one could forget that kind of hot. A year of rampant drought, I think. The transition was strange. We lived in stone huts like Men while in Dunland, as the mountains were to overrun with orcs to safely establish anything permanent. I only knew from history lessons that dwarves typically live in grand halls beneath the earth. To experience it, though? Well, I don’t imagine you would know a thing about acclimating to a completely different lifestyle.”

She giggled. “Oh, absolutely not.”

“It wasn’t just the change in location, though. We had to give up what little we had to afford food along the way. Amad had to stop working as we journeyed, and…we no longer had Adad’s contribution, so the going was tough for a while. They tried to keep it hidden, but she and Uncle were at odds with each other quite a bit. She hated living here for a time. It was just as cold and desolate as Dunland had been.”

“Then we found the silver,” Kíli interjected with a gleam in his eye. “Not _mithril,_ unfortunately. No one’s found that anywhere but Moria in recent years. But we finally dug deep enough, and the concentration of silver in the ore was unlike anything that had ever been seen before, according to some of the greying miners. We actually had surplus for a while; demand couldn’t keep up. Each year, there was a little more to eat and more luxuries to attain. Oh, but then the gold showed up.”

Fíli chuckled. “We thought we were living like kings. The gold brought us entirely out of poverty, and we finally didn’t have to worry about rationing food. Thorin was certainly in a more agreeable mood, when we saw him. It made living here just a bit more enjoyable.”

“Little terrors, we were.” Kíli thumped a fist against his brother’s arm. “This whole town became our stomping ground when Mother finally deemed me old enough for Fíli to take me on one of his excursions. Thorin tried to keep us too busy with training and lessons to do any real damage.” He giggled suddenly, pointing toward an open space beside the glowing smithy shop. “We attempted to start our own campfire with a coal behind old, unused scaffolding. The dry wood took the spark like pigs to mud.”

“That was wild!” Fíli exclaimed. “That thing went up so fast, we singed our hair. Mother was furious!”

“She probably wasn’t the only one.” While Thorin opted out of the intricate braids of his people, he still tended to his hair just as much as anyone else. He certainly took pride in his. For his nephews, his heirs, to ruin theirs?

“Amad was the scariest,” Kíli replied with a shudder. “Uncle tried to discipline us. Usually, he was pretty successful. But he started laughing, then likened us to him and our Uncle Frerin when they were kids. He couldn’t keep a straight face while doubling our chores around the house for the next week, and that set her off even more.”

“Sounds like Dís and my mother would get along in a pinch. Six of us she had to wrangle, and no one had sympathy enough to give her break until we were all too old for senselessness.”

“Six?!” Fíli looked as if he could hardly fathom the very thought.

“Farm work’s what we specialize in, or at least my family. Fields don’t tend and harvest themselves; the consequence is more mouths to feed, but the extra hands are a must with a bumper crop. And, well, hobbits don’t have much of anything better to do.”

Kíli burst out laugh until his eyes shown with tears. “‘We’re bored. Let’s have children,’” he cried, putting in very little effort to control himself. Cori wanted to laugh hysterically as well, but for an entirely different reason. He found the idea absurd, but she knew it was irrefutably true. “When will I ever be able to understand hobbits?”

“Let me know when you do. I’ve got a thing or two I’d like to learn about myself.”

The dwarves were relieved that their old home had taken very little damage from an attack several months prior. The real kicker? No lives had been lost. The settlement was strong and refused any kind of aid but a little coin to replenish one of the food storage rooms that was burned. In fact, they insisted on holding a feast in celebration of their king’s return. Thorin promptly declined, but his laughter while being bombarded with insistence did little to validate his sincerity. He seemed pleased as pie to be back and willing to make merry for the occasion. And so, the whole town was invited to the expansive feasting hall that evening just before sundown, and no one dared miss the chance to welcome back their king and princes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My break from studying ended up being longer than I anticipated. XD At least I was productive in some way. Things have been going well so far, so I think I'm all right.
> 
> Oh, Thorin, you adorable goober. And Cori's got some dwarven blood in her for sure, she's so thick in the head.
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely comments and kudos! <3


	18. Never To Know

Orcs and wargs, the foulest creatures that ever plagued Middle-earth, she stood against with only wood and flint in hand. Dwarves she supped with beneath the stars and converged with in their mighty halls. A resentful hobbit family she faced with what was left of her emotional strength. The elements in their harshest and most cruel she endured for months with little repose.

And she was about to be trounced by _this._

The road before them was veiled in the obscurity of the unknown until their enemy could finally poke their insolent, ugly heads out of their cowardly holes, wherever they hid. But when Cori signed that contract with Thorin, she knew without a doubt that she was consenting to the possibility of several more months of camping in the wilderness, eating dried fruit and nuts until spring would bring forth new alternatives. It was practically in the fine print. And that was just fine with her. As far as she could tell, this outrageous family, though repetitively faulty at frequent intervals, had the makings of a fine future ally when every day beyond this twisted expedition seemed to remain in that uncertain shade. And she had grown quite fond of them. _Very_ fond, in fact, in particular instances.

And if any of them mutually regarded her a friend, they would have warned her about a possible inflexion, especially as serious as this one.

She had _not_ , while potentially signing away her life to these dwarves, endorsed attending a formal evening banquet with a king as the guest of honor. There were many, many things entirely wrong about a hobbit at a dwarven feast.

Firstly, hobbits were not _formal._ The closest the Shirefolk ever came to formality were weddings and court hearings. Any hobbit would say with utmost surety that a newly-sown dress, no matter the material or pattern, and a good foot hair combing were all that would be required for ceremony. Plain, simple folk did not adhere to a rigid structure. Cori had only ever been to her own family’s weddings, and seeing as they could barely afford the food and a few flowery decorations to start with, clothing had been the least in importance.  

She had to face facts and admit it: she had not the slightest idea what to wear.

Secondly, she received a valuable reminder in Durmark. These dwarves that welcomed her to their fireside chats of things few non-dwarves had ever known were her friends. However, she remembered the apprehension she felt in Erebor beneath all the scrutinizing eyes who did not know an outsider, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, had been one of the first to reenter their sacred home, and thought another one to be the highest of improprieties. Many of the council of now Lord Arin showed her the sniffy disdain that began with Hundin all the way up until they left the city, even after learning she would be assisting their people in dire need. The path of an old dwarf was just as difficult to alter as a charging boor, and Ereven was filled with just as many grey-bearded purists. Might she be run out before she could even sample the wine she worked hard for? It was the uncertainty of the manner by which she would be…extracted from the feast that made her nervous. She knew by now that dwarves could be a little over the top.

Whether or not she actually managed to pull the wool over Dís’s eyes or the dam had seen fit to pity her, Cori’s act of deception had gotten her what she wanted then. So there was no reason it would not work now, right?

“Cori, you’re going to that feast if we have to carry you between the two of us.”

Fíli was using his “I’ll be sitting on a throne with a crown on my head once my uncle croaks” voice, which he expected to be obeyed without question or delay. A blood trait, it would seem. Would that make him Thorin III of Durin’s line because he was born before Dáin’s son, or the fourth because he received the name _after_ the heir to the lordship of the Iron Hills had been given his? Maybe she could ask. “Well, what if I don’t feel well?”

Kíli demonstrated his disapproval with a tilt of his head. “You don’t look sick.”

“I’m a woman. I don’t have to be ‘sick’ to not feel well.”

The implication flew straight over their heads. However, the older dwarves had demonstrated some knowledge on the topic along their journey. She was pretty sure Dwalin had caught onto her condition when it occurred the week before, though said nothing, and would have called her bluff had the boys relayed that as her reason for not attending anyway. The last thing she needed was a bunch of dwarves interrogating her about _that_

“And if I just don’t want to?” she sighed.

“We won’t believe that either,” Fíli said with a wide grin. “You can’t convince us that a hobbit doesn’t want anything to do with a party supplying abundant food, ale, and the greatest music this side of the Lune when she’s been without it for this long. Bilbo never hesitated to give us a lesson on Shire custom, especially as hobbit holidays came and went along the Quest. We know you. You were quick to join in on the singing and the jokes around the campfire. Come up with something original, or just give up and show your face at the party.”

She tossed her hands up because, quite frankly, the only thing she could think to do was hide. After her last real talk with Thorin and the things that even the silence revealed, she hardly felt that her pride could handle that. She gestured wildly to herself and the cleanest pair of her travel clothes she could dig out of her bag as she put off washing the rest. “Am I supposed to wear this?”

Kíli shrugged. “You could.”

Her mouth dropped open. Had they not seen themselves since they changed clothes? They looked as if they were about to attend a coronation. Fíli stood in a tunic and coat of cobalt, which was interrupted by a layer of shiny mail and a cloak trimmed in grey-and-white fox fur. Kíli matched the evergreens outside the city gates with a garb of similar fashion to his brother’s. Except, that may have once been a raccoon that now shaped his doublet. Both of them sported clean, fresh-looking hair. If the princes were dressed like this, no one would be seen in anything but an attempt to impress the esteemed guests. “I’m sure those serving the food and tending to the fireplaces would be in finer costume than this.”

“Wait!” Fíli held up a hand. “If you’re that worried about it, I think I have an idea.”

Despite all the people that scrambled throughout the center of town, making last-minute preparations for the feast, they dragged the blubbering hobbit through the streets and to the residential quarters. Cori wondered what had caused them to fancy a visit with an old acquaintance at this time, but they shushed her as they waited for the door to open. A stout dam of fine stature appeared from behind it, looking quite rumpled and peeved that someone had deigned this moment to come knocking. Cori immediately thought of a miffed goose, and she almost squeaked out an apology as she reached for the boys’ wrists. But the woman’s indignation melted away into a bright smile that nearly wavered with emotion. “Well, I never thought I’d see the day. Once you two left all those years ago, I was certain that was the end of those times you would come knocking.”

“Aw, Miss Ona.” Kíli stepped through the threshold and wrapped the mature lady in a tight, affectionate embrace. “Now what gave you the idea we’d go and forget you so easily? I don’t think I could live the rest of my life without your delicious cinnamon bread. You made that so perfectly crispy on the outside and fluffy in; I haven’t seen it done right since.”

She chuckled wetly. “Well, you’ll have to forgive me, darlings. I’m a little behind in my baking.” She reached for Fíli this time, examining him from boot to braid with a proud gleam in her eye. “I’ve just had a flood of orders from customers wanting their dresses and pants altered for the feast tonight. Had to turn most of them away; don’t they know how impractical it is to make such an order on short notice? I just finished my last one, and I was about to get myself ready, but I’m sure it won’t be starting without you two there.”

Fíli pursed his lips. “Actually, Miss Ona, we’ve got a bit of a request to make.” He drew a reluctant Cori into his side and smiled at her. “This is Cori Houndberry, a stalwart member of our company. She’s having a little trouble deciding what to wear, you see. I didn’t think there would be anyone better to ask than an expert.”

The dwarrowdam set an amicable grin on her. “Well, so this is the halfling I heard had come in with you all. Must be something else for the king to enlist your services, Miss Houndberry.”

“Hobbit, ma’am. I am a hobbit.”

The lady snickered, placing her hands on her plump hips. “Indeed you are. And a small one at that. But significant, I’m sure, since the princes seem so intent on helping you.” She sighed, stepping aside. “I can’t rightly close the door in your faces, now can I? Not if I want to remain in the good graces of your uncle as I have all these years.”

With an arm around the girl’s shoulders, Fíli dragged her inside the house. His mouth brushed her pointed ear. “She was our nursemaid when we were younger. One of Amad’s closest friends. She was there for both our births. The kindest lady you’ll ever meet among Durin’s folk.”

Ona tottered around the furniture in the apartment and through a round archway into another room. “You’ll have to excuse the mess. As I said, I’ve been in quite a rush this evening. Roki’s been summoned as one of the guards for the feast, so he tore the place up trying to find his best cloak that he was convinced I’d hidden from him, the old codger. Now, lucky for you, dear, I happen to remember my little Dena was your size at one point. A little lanky she was to begin with, but she filled out good once she settled into the married life. I certainly wasn’t going to toss out any of her old clothes, though I’ve been tempted to use some of the fabrics a time or two. I don’t think she’d mind, and if I’m being honest, it’ll do me good to start emptying out some of those trunks.” Her voice carried against the stone until a wall blocked it. She disappeared from view with a wave of her hand.

Cori thrust an elbow into Fíli’s side, feeling some satisfaction from his grunt. “If I’d have known you were going to bring me to ransack some lady’s things, I never would’ve come with you. Just know I’m not trusting any of either of your ideas anymore.”

“You heard her, Cori.” Kíli poked her cheek. “It’s her job to find people clothes. She’s happy to do it. She’s the best in her field. We’ll definitely get you something that’ll set you apart from the wait staff.”

That still meant she would draw attention, an inevitability of her attending anyway. Was it still too late to try to convince them to let her go to bed early? They would certainly cave if she fainted from exhaustion.

The next half hour she spent standing on a pedestal as Ona draped an emerald green velvet rug over her and stitched up the deficiencies right on the spot. Placed directly next to the fire, she began to sweat, and her tired feet begged for rest on that plush settee in her quarters. However, she stared into the mirror as the dress slowly molded to her figure. And she really liked what she saw. The hue matched her dark hair, and though it was made for an occasion like this and a bit long for Shire tastes, it was quite simple with a golden-threaded bodice, a matching chain girdle that was probably made out of real gold, and sleeves that draped off her shoulders. Ona produced a black shawl since the mountain was cold and they had heard that it was still snowing outside. Cori did not have the heart to turn down the arrangement even when the dam tightened her corset strings to the point of snapping a few ribs. So much for breathing tonight, but at least the dress was worth it.

“You cut quite the figure in velvet, dear,” Ona said with an appraising look at the hobbit and a faint smile to signal her findings were satisfactory. “Twist a few braids into that mop up there, and you might even look like you belong in dwarven high society.”

“The ears might make that a problem,” Cori quipped back, sharing a hearty laugh with the dwarf woman.

The jaws of the princes hit the floor as soon as they saw her, and she pushed them back into place. “Don’t embarrass me. I’m already disturbed enough.”

Fíli choked. “Cori, you look like a princess.”

“Again, disturbed. Don’t make it worse.” Their enthusiasm put her at ease somewhat, however. At least she did not look entirely out of place as she imagined she would no matter what she wore. Their approval meant a great deal more than any of those strangers out there, so she was content with that. She turned to Ona and smiled broadly. “Thank you. I’ll make sure to clean it as best I can and return it as soon as possible tomorrow.”

The dam waved her hand. “Nonsense. Take your time. If this feasting goes as it should, you’ll be too bent in the morning to make as conscious an effort as that, but thank you anyway. Don’t think I’d miss it too much if you up and took off with it either.”

Cori shook her head furiously. “Not without a bit of coin in your pocket to take its place, I won’t.”

The trio parted from the dwarf lady with promises to find her in the feast hall later that evening. When the dwarves returned her to her chambers, they forced her to make another vow that she would show up if they left her be to continue to get ready. Honestly, she was stuck at this point now that she had borrowed the dress of a lady she had never met before, which she pointed out to them, and that seemed to assure them of her commitment.

Of course, when she told them she would come, she never said anything about being on time. As little as she knew about what to wear to these gatherings, she knew less about how to wear her hair. Deciding took a while, and actually performing the style took even longer when she realized she did not actually know how to do it. Eventually, she managed to weave a simple braid from the crown of her head all the way down the length of her hair, draping it over one shoulder. It came out agreeably thick, and she was pleased with it.

About twenty minutes after she was told to be at the festivities hall, she charged out of her room and out into the main cavern. The air bit at her exposed skin, and she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. When she finally skidded into the antechamber of the hall, she checked over her attire and hair for anything askew. To her surprise, not even a sprig of hair had escaped the braid. She had to stand to compose herself for a moment; damn corsets and all they stood for. “Never…again,” she vowed with a wheeze as she pressed a hand to her chest, much to the amusement of the servant standing nearby. Once warm, she discarded her shawl to him and entered the room via double doors held by guards. She instantly lost all the breath she had regained.

The celebration was in full swing, and quite a celebration it was. Tables lined the floor on both sides, covered end-to-end in the most delicious foods she had ever seen. Four large fireplaces blazed on either side of the room, and candlelight made the hall glow warmly. A few attendees nearby turned to look at her when she walked in. They whispered amongst themselves, making little effort to disguise the obvious assessment of her.

It was what she had feared, obviously, but now she was here. No one would be able to say that she was bested by a crowd of nobility before she even made it a step through the door. She was not raised to allow others to tread on her, to call her “halfling” and look down their noses at her just because she was small and unembellished. So, with a slight tilt of her chin upward because _confound it she had come here in the company of their king,_ she stepped out onto the floor and immediately searched out the wine.

The middle of the floor was set apart for dancing, and many were already making use of it. She laughed when she spotted Diran, one of their guards, as he sent her a wink only to spin away with a comely dam in his arms. In fact, she spotted several of their warriors enjoying themselves on the floor. The tune they danced to was buoyant, and each participant stomped around with an eager grin. The music reminded her of something she heard played at Midsummer’s Eve several times in her youth. The fiddle slurred and jumped about in just the same way Old Coffer used to do. What a strange place to find such a parallel, but Cori stood and enjoyed the nostalgia for a moment before she set out on her mission for what she had desired for some time now.

Ah, yes! There it was! She dashed toward one of the tables and picked up a goblet of red liquid. Without a moment’s hesitation, she brought it to her lips and took a long swallow. So crisp and sweet, yet with a bit of a bite to it. Just how she liked it, and it was the first cup she picked up, too. If the rest of the night would turn out just as lucky as that, it may not be as much of a disaster as she thought.

“Hello, my dear lady hobbit.” She abruptly turned around. Her eyes narrowed when she realized the brothers stooped in a low bow before her. Trust them not to make a scene. Fíli continued to speak as he rose up to his full height. “I don’t believe we’ve met. You see, I thought for a moment you were our friend Cori Houndberry, but she tends to lean more toward the grungier traveler’s appearance, so you’ll have to forgive me for the impudence.”

She snorted, popping his bicep with the back of her hand. “What did I say about embarrassing me?”

“‘Embarrassing’ you,” the other annunciated slowly, “would be more along the lines of tossing a mug of ale onto the front of your dress which, by the way, you fill out quite well.” If he did not look like an adolescent boy trying too hard to flirt with the first skirt he caught sight of, she would have blushed.

“No, I believe that’s what’s going to happy to _you_ if you don’t stop, and trust me when I say you’ll be in for it if I have to waste this wine on either of you.”

Fíli tilted his head toward his brother. “I think Miss Houndberry here is starting to get too comfortable with her liberties, don’t you, brother?”

The corner of Kíli’s mouth quirked up in a sloppy smirk. “I absolutely do. It’s as if she’s forgotten who she’s talking to. Maybe the clothes weren’t such a good idea after all.”

“Nah, he won’t be able to take his eyes off her.”

That made her ears perk up. “Who are you talking about?”

Kíli quickly whipped his head around, staring across the room. “I do believe I’ve promised my precious time to a few more snug dresses, so if you’ll excuse me, lady hobbit and dear brother mine.” He adjusted his lapels, marching off toward the dance floor with a mission in mind and not even a glance in her direction.

Fíli hardly seemed worried about being left with the aftermath. “Stay out of trouble,” he called after him, already shaking his head. “I doubt there’ll be much luck in that happening.”

“He might earn himself a slap or two, but I’m sure his title puts him in the good graces of any father in this room.”

“You clearly don’t know him like I do, nor do you know dwarven fathers.”

Hobbit fathers were scary enough. She did not want to think about _that_ being accompanied by a freshly-sharpened battle ax. Of course, a garden hoe could put the fear of the Valar into anyone when wielded by the right hands.

“So are you going to tell me what you two were going on about a moment ago?”

He grinned. “Nope.”

She blew a breath out of her nose. “And why not?”

“You’ll find out eventually, I promise, even if it’s not tonight.”

She threw a hand up. “Cryptic little shysters you are. The both of you. Now I see why Thorin’s greying early.”

“Oh, yes, that has absolutely nothing to do with the weight of the kingdom he’s had on his shoulders for the past seventy odd years.”

“You vastly underestimate your talents, lad, but we can go with that answer.”

The teasing melted away after they exchanged a small smile, and a few moments of content silence passed as they stood and watched the festivities. Within the crowd, Cori looked for some familiar faces. Kíli had found himself a little blonde lass with the wispy beginnings of a beard along her jawline, and he unpretentiously led her to the floor despite his initial forward attitude. Dwalin was nowhere to be seen, but she suspected he had either found a keg of ale he decided to claim for his own or he was visiting old acquaintances somewhere. He found a friend of the past earlier in the day, and the resulting extended embrace made for a heartwarming moment. Cori absently wondered how many friends every member of the Erebor company had left behind here, dwelling on it no longer than a moment as she did not want to break the good mood she was in. One particular head of black and silver should have poked over the top of everyone else, but she saw nothing of the kind.

When she realized how long the silence had gone on, she looked back toward the golden prince at her side and frowned. He had cast his gaze to the other end of the table they stood by and refused to look away. Over the rim of her cup, Cori saw what caught his attention. A dwarrowdam talking with two others stared right back at him, the barest hint of a smile on her face. Fíli did not answer. In fact, his face seemed to grow cold and hard, an unusual sight for the jovial young dwarf. Cori would not allow him his bad mood if for no other reason than she did not want to be dragged down with it. But she also cared enough about him to stick her nose into it. “Are you going to introduce me?” she asked, elbowing him gently.

As if pulled from a trance, he turned away, settling his blue eyes back on her. They were a little duller. “It’s no one in particular.”

“Oh, please. Where I come from, what you two just did there is called ‘making doe eyes.’ You don’t do that with a stranger. Why haven’t you gone up to talk with her?” The girl was extremely beautiful by all dwarven standards, generously curved with the tanned skin and the customary red hair of the Firebeards. Cori could quite honestly see Fíli with a girl like that.

He seemed very reluctant to open his mouth, but he sighed in defeat. “Tira, daughter of Lokthen. We fooled around a bit before I left for the Quest. It was good fun for me, and she seemed to enjoy herself.”

“Ooh.” She waggled her eyebrows.

He snorted. “All right, now. We are at a formal dinner. Anyway, right before I left, she told me that she wanted to get married when we reclaimed the mountain. It shocked me. She had been so focused on her smithing that I never imagined she would want to marry _anyone._ I…honestly hadn’t found anything between us that serious, and I tried to tell her that, but she cried when I told her I was leaving. I let her off, insisting that it was time to move on from our little game. But, as we journeyed into the East, I caught myself thinking about her a lot. I hoped, prayed, that she wouldn’t move on, and maybe she’d wait for my return.

“Ever since we settled in Erebor, Uncle and Mother have been pushing me to find someone, saying that she would have written once word came to Ereven that we had made it. I haven’t wanted to give up hope. But, Cori, I did her wrong, even if I didn’t know it at the time. I want to make amends and…she has no marriage braid, nor a courting braid of any kind. It is possible, but she may have devoted herself entirely to the anvil. I want to ask for a second chance. How could I do that after I hurt her so badly?”

If Tira could look on the face of this lad, the anguish that was plain for all to see, and not pity him, she did not deserve the extraordinary individual that stood here now, grown up and repentant with vaster knowledge. “We all make mistakes we feel we could never return from.” She placed a comforting hand on his arm. “I’ve told you about my relationship with my family. Every day, I wish I could go back and do something differently. Something that wouldn’t place this wedge between us. I’ve done more than enough bad myself, and I’ve had an equal share of wrong done to me. No deed is above forgiveness, if the doer’s heart reflects his penitence. She doesn’t know you feel this way; she still thinks you want nothing to do with her. You have to tell her; then she can forgive you, and you can continue on from there. If she doesn’t forgive you, or does so and wishes not to accept you, you’ll know it was never meant to be. But if you let it hang in the air, you’ll never know.”

Determination fired up in his blue eyes, and his cheeks lifted with a smile. “I guess you’re right. Where’d the sagely wisdom come from all of a sudden?”

“Haven’t you heard? Hobbits personally convene with Yavanna herself. We know more about the world than you think.”

He seemed to be legitimately contemplating that fact for a moment before he shook his head. “Honestly, if it were true, it wouldn’t surprise me.” He quickly bent down and pressed a kiss to her cheek before downing his ale in a single gulp. His shoulders back and head high, he strode over to the girl obviously eager to be in his company. Her hairy cheeks lifted upon seeing him approach, and she completely turned away from the conversation she had been engrossed in earlier to place all focus on him. _Just as I thought_ , Cori mused, sighing with triumph as she sipped her wine and leaned back against the table to watch the magic unfold.

“Sound advice.” Warm fingers touching her elbow stole her concentration from the couple, and she turned to face the guest of honor. A flurry of butterflies erupted in her middle, and she was certain she glowed like a tomato. Thorin donned a regal tunic of his house’s colors, a long black coat trimmed in red fox fur sweeping about his feet. His hair fell in clean, silky waves around his shoulders, two thick braids looped around the sides of his head and joining in the back. Cori cursed all the Valar one at a time for this brutal torment. “Thank you for helping him,” he continued. “I’m fortunate he confided in me with his troubles after we settled in the mountain, but I had very little to offer him, as much as I wanted desperately to ease his mind.”

She shrugged. “It was a general answer. Very little experience in the art of romance. As I said, I’ve been on both ends of betrayal, I’m ashamed to admit. I’ve felt what it’s like to be forgiven for something I never thought I would be pardoned from.” But rarely had she ever made use of such a thing herself. Forgiveness maybe. But testing the waters? The results from the last time she tried that now hung over her and between them from a hook, taunting her for ever daring to desire such a thing in the first place. She had no trust in it. So much for sound advice, if she could not even bring herself to use it.

He nodded slowly. “As have I. It is exceptional.” As if just noticing her, he cast his eyes over her dress. “They mentioned something about finding you clothes for tonight. I hoped they wouldn’t pull anything, but I see I had nothing to fear. You are stunning tonight, Cori.”

She bowed her head, willing her hands to stay still. Cordial compliments were better than none, right (even though this hurt like nothing she had ever felt before)? “I’ve never been to anything quite like this. I feel like a dandelion trying to be a dahlia." She fiddled with her skirts, running the material between her fingers. "Or a vagabond trying to be a lady."

He frowned. “Have you been given trouble?”

She shook her head, a little taken aback by the drop in his tone. “Everyone’s been either very amiable or just ignoring me, both of which I’m perfectly fine with. I’m certainly not here to make a scene.”

His mood completely flipped on end, and his grin was impish. “You tend to do that anyway wherever you go. You haven’t exactly chosen a lifestyle that would allow you to blend in. You’re a curiosity.”

“I’m a hobbit. We’re supposed to be light on our feet, never drawing attention to ourselves. I’m usually gone before anybody realizes I was ever there.”

He pursed his lips, cocking his head as if struck with a new idea. She had the impulse to ask, then the restraint to hold back, but she need not worry about either. He took a step back, holding out his palm to her. “If hobbits are so light on their feet, I imagine they would make impeccable dance partners. Would you honor me with one or two?”

She stared up in shock at his smirk, all the boldness leaving her at once. “Bad idea.”

“Why?”

“Everyone will be watching you.”

“Did you not just hear me, Cori?” He withdrew his hand, stepping up to speak quietly to her in the deafening murmur of the room. “You would _honor_ me by dancing with me. _You_ , preserver of Durin’s line. If they see a problem in it, I will be sure to let them know just what you’ve done for our people. What you are doing now by accompanying us on our mission.”

Her nose twitched, a thousand negative outcomes to this spinning around in her head. “I still think you mean the other way around, this honoring thing.”

He raised his hand again. “No, I do not.”

Taking a deep breath, heart thundering like wild horses, she let him lead her out onto the floor. His confident steps were slow, but her jitters had her nearly stumbling along behind him. He smiled reassuringly to her. Cori blatantly ignored the skeptical eyes boring down on them, choosing rather to keep her gaze on his and reveling in the comfort they brought to her. She briefly thought on how safe she felt next to him, despite the absence of real danger. When they reached the middle of the floor, Thorin spun her around to face him.

“I don’t know anything about dwarven dances,” she said dizzily.

His eyes, soft and intrigued, took her in like one of the tapestries hanging in this room. He held her tiny hand in his large one, the other placing her left on his shoulder. It curved around her waist, raising goosebumps across her skin. “This one is easy. Let me lead.”

Immediately, Cori was swallowed by his warmth, every bit of the chill she suffered earlier slipping away. She involuntarily moved closer to him, but that was inevitable as the music bid them to do just that. The pace was joyful, though not too exuberant, so they settled quickly into a smooth, easy rhythm. Cori was cautious of where she placed her bare feet; even if she did catch his boots, though, she would probably end up with more damage. However, as he said, the steps were simple and repeated often, so in little time, she became comfortable. Having a talented partner did much to boost her confidence. “I would never have guessed you could dance.”

“I’m out of practice. I managed to avoid it at the New Year celebrations last autumn, so it’s been several years.”

“Could’ve fooled me. I can’t imagine your sharpened skills.”

“You may not keep up.”

She scoffed. “Probably not.”

He chuckled, moving away from her to let her twirl once before scooping her back into his embrace. “You seemed quite unsure of yourself when we began, yet you have not missed a step yet. I think you’re more talented than you know.”

“I’m terrified to move. You’re carrying us both, if you haven’t realized.”

The rhythm slowed to a calmer speed, and while some dwarves left the floor, the king and his partner remained with a couple stragglers. Cori could almost pretend it was just the two of them, and how pitiful would that be? But her mind left all sense behind when those eyes fell on her.

Why could she not just be content with _this_? This wonderful, powerful dwarf had extended friendship to her when he had nothing to gain from such a reach. And he seemed to enjoy her presence. Talking with him was as easy as skipping a rock across a pond, and even when they did not speak, their companionable silence was enjoyable. Yet she wanted to push _feelings_ into the mix. What did it matter? He was unreachable, and she would have to be dense not to read the signs as they were. She was better off leaving well enough alone, before she really made a fool out of herself.

“Why did you leave?” She needed to break the quiet moment, if only to give her mind something else to focus on other than the adoring smile on his face. “There’s no poverty here. It’s a peaceful place with a bright future. Why not just build up a new kingdom here?”

His expression sobered, but he continued to lead the dance just as steadily as before. “My grandfather led our people back to Erebor after the devastation they suffered in the Grey Mountains. It was through Thrór’s dedication that Durin’s folk had a home again. After Smaug, he wanted nothing more than to take it back. He and my father both. But neither of them had the chance. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to rebuild their legacy.”

“And yet?”

He cocked his head. “What?”

“Thorin, you looked as if a raincloud just formed over your head and only yours.” Actually, the moment the words left his lips, his face grew stiff and distant. “As if that isn’t your normal countenance, but nevertheless, tell me what’s on your mind.”

He sighed heavily, then stepped away from her. She wondered what had caused him to do so, but then he bowed formally to her, and she realized he was ending the dance. She copied the bow, looking away from the applauding crowd and down to her feet. When he extended his elbow to her, she slipped her hand in it and followed him to the side. When he grabbed a tankard of ale and handed her another cup of wine, she wondered if he planned on brushing her off and getting her drunk enough to forget about it. Finally, after a quick glance around at who was near, he dropped his head in resignation. “Something weighs heavily on my mind. An unwanted heirloom of my family.”

Her lips parted as the thought dawned in her mind. “Gold-sickness.”

He looked as if he had been physically struck. “You know of it?”

“Caught wind of it amongst your people’s halls over the years. And Dwalin explained a little to me.”

He huffed, jaw grinding in irritation. “Nothing is sacred, apparently, even when I say it is.”

She should have known Dwalin overstepped more than he let on. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”

His eyes swirled like a fierce summer thunderstorm. “Looking back on that quest, I realize there may have been darker incentives as well. Upon returning to the treasure that the dragon sat upon for decades, the curse drove me to suspect my own family of treachery. I… nearly killed Bilbo, the one I had placed my confidence in despite everything, when he admitted to taking the Arkenstone. I fear it did not begin when we entered the mountain, but much sooner. And neither did it end the day of the battle.”

She had never seen such a vulnerable look on his face in all the time she had known him. It gave her the sudden urge to take him out of here and hide him away from the rest of the world and all its judgmental eyes.

His tone dropped low. “It’s a voice that nags and whispers to this day. I cannot trust my own decisions and desires anymore. I second-guess much of what I’ve done ever since returning home. Even this venture I debated over for longer than I should have. And I…anticipate its next strike.”

All he said seemed reflective of what Dwalin and the boys admitted to. He thought this was his burden to bear, but others had known for far longer than even he did. He spent too much time building up his walls, he could hardly tell what he had to repel and what he could let in. She took his hand between both of hers and rubbed it. “Honestly, I don’t see someone that is stricken by illness. Green incarnate wouldn’t allow a single bit of gold to leave that mountain. Wouldn’t be willing to give it to a hobbit so she doesn’t starve come winter. There’s nothing of the sort in you now. I wouldn’t have signed that contract if I felt you were leading me astray.”

He grinned dryly, shaking his head. He looked as if he had reconciled himself to an ill fate long ago. “It remains dormant now, but that may not last forever. Because you have come to know me as I am, you will be able to tell when it hits. I advise you to stay as far away as you can when that happens.”

“And what makes you think, after all this time you’ve traveled with me, that I’m actually going to listen to what you tell me now? In fact, I think I’m most qualified to stand up to your bullheadedness, seeing as I’ve had great success in it so far.”

His grin was weak, but at least it was there. “You have been the voice of reason in many instances so far. Who knows? You may actually have some luck.”

“Don’t count me out just yet.”

He looked down at their hands, arranging them so he could grip one gently. “I thank you, Cori. I truly needed your counsel tonight.”

She was happy to give it. He was her leader now, and as much as he touted the company taking care of her, it was her responsibility as a member now to see to the success of this mission. A jumbled-up mind could impair even the most steadfast person in the wrong situation. And as much of a mess as her heart was at the moment, he was still her friend. She could not let him suffer quietly. She just hoped he trusted her enough to confide in her as he just had now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments and kudos! They're great encouragement to get chapters out faster. Now that I'm out of school for the summer, I'll have more time to write. 
> 
> Don't forget to tell your mothers or a mother figure in your life how much they mean to you this weekend, even if you're in a country that isn't celebrating Mother's Day tomorrow. And to any of you who are mothers, you are appreciated. :)
> 
> Love you all! <3


	19. Light through the Stone Wall

_I am happy. This is not at all painful or annoying. This is what I wanted_

For the first time in her life, while lodging beneath the earth in the dark dwellings of the dwarves, Cori was actually glad her room lacked the windows she so desperately longed for on all other occasions. Any greeting by the sun would not be a friendly one, and she would have nothing of the sort for it.

Cori had only had a few cups of wine. And maybe some ale that a very tipsy Dwalin shoved into her hand because he insisted it was better ale than any they had found along the road (and he was right, of course). But, as her light purse usually limited her indulgences, she absolutely could not take it for all she was worth. When she made excuses for “just one more cup,” she gave little credence to how predictable this end was.

After that dance and the amount of time she spent just watching the king in all his splendor interacting with his kin, she needed something to keep her afloat in the pit she was so very close to drowning in.

On the positive side, she was not the only one suffering.

Once the hammering in her head had subsided enough to permit her to leave the bed, she threw on something clean and presentable and left to find breakfast. Instead, lounging in the common room between the guest chambers, Dwalin glowered into a plate of bread and cheese with a small tin cup nearly bending inward within his death grip. He did not acknowledge her entrance into the room, not even with a grunt. When she reached out to snatch the roll from beneath his nose, his free hand leapt to her wrist and squeezed. “You’ll be regrettin’ that, lass.”

“Oh, no, I think it’ll probably be the best decision I have all morning.” She took one from the communal plate in the middle of the table, plopping down on the bench beside him. “So where’s that dwarven stamina you all are so eager to tout around at the first available moment?”

He cast a blank side eye to her. “We ain’t invincible. And what about you? I hear hobbits are heavy into their cups.”

“Doesn’t mean we all can hold it. There’s a reason the Shire’s kept so quiet all the time.”

He shrugged, sipping gingerly from his cup. “A sensible argument, I s’pose.”

“We’ve never been known for our intelligence anyway.” Judging by the faint scent from his cup, it was some kind of tea. She looked around for a source.

“That to say you’re an exception?”

“Of course not. I’m just as soused as you.”

“Nah. You’ve got some smarts, no matter what you say ‘bout the rest o’ your kind. You don’t do anythin’ without a reason.” He sniffed, leaning his head on an inked knuckle. “Which makes me wonder what was goin’ through your head last night that had you buried in your cups the way you were.”

Cori bit into her bread, chewing with deliberate slowness. She had to think a bit. He had taken her off guard. While she had no doubt Dwalin had her back in a fight, he was not so quick to jump into talk of intimate matters. He looked the kind to make no fuss about emotions, and that was how he came across. However, she occasionally caught him and Thorin with their heads bent toward each other exchanging quiet chatter with solemn faces. So it took copious trust in order to get into his head. In that, she and the gruff dwarf had some common ground. She never expected him to actually take the leap with her. Fortunately, she was stocked full of excuses. “I’ve got much to be thankful for, Master Dwalin, but a lot that’s dragged me down just the same. I’d save the full story for when both of us are of the mind to share and receive. Right now, I’m a bit hard-pressed to go down that road.”

He nodded with pursed lips. “Fair ‘nough. You’re a right mess, lass, if I’m to believe anything you’ve told us so far. Seems you could use a break every now and then. Mahal, don’t we all.” He then offered her the little cup, which she took eagerly. The overpowering scent and bite of ginger filled her nose and mouth, spreading all the way up into her head and the incessant ache there. A small tease of relief came almost immediately, and she felt drowsy again. How long would the rest of the company be in waking, she wondered?

“It’s to do with Thorin, isn’t it?’

She paused, feeling her heart jump. A spike of irritation jabbed her in the gut as well. Was she that obvious? If so, how had the dwarf in question not noticed?

“I saw you two talkin’ last night, and it certainly wasn’t your usual jovial banter, if I read your faces right. His pessimism put you in a bad mood?”

That was much too close for comfort. And a bit of a let-down. She wished for somebody to talk to about this, then maybe the answer for dealing with it would be made clear. But she dared not bring it up with any of his loyal kin. They would surely feel obligated to tell him and brush off any effort of hers to seal their silence. No matter how much they claimed to be her friend, they would always take his side, for he was their king and kin. She took no offense. “You were right about him. About the gold sickness. He’s paranoid of it returning.”

He turned to stare forward with a contemplative nod. “That oaf of a dwarf actually talks to me, believe it or not. Can’t say one way or another why he feels the need to do so; he makes a habit of deliberately avoiding his sister for that reason. But he tells me quite a bit, more than I expect somebody like him to let loose. I s’pose I should be grateful; if he’s not keeping it in, it’s not comin’ out at the worst possible time like a vital meeting with the Woodland Realm or somethin’. I just have to deal with the outburst in the training ring. But the sickness ain’t something he’s ever broached a chat about. I called it embarrassment at first. He owned up to what he did when he thought we were all goin’ to die, but I don’t think he planned on not goin’ out swingin’. I haven’t a doubt that he’s scared out of his wits about it. You didn’t see him, lass, what it did to him. Take my word for it when I say he’s got every incentive to not want it to happen again.”

Cori shook her head. “I never doubted either.” It was strange, however, to hear someone talk about Thorin and use the word “scared.” She knew he had fears. It was the origin of nightmares, after all. And the many times he thanked her for saving his nephews proved how frightened he was of losing them for good. He would not be a mortal being if he did not fear _something_. But the scale of his dread for this looming madness in his life took her by surprise and somewhat concerned her. “Is there anything really to be done?”

He chuffed, leveling a fond grin on her. “Trust you to want to complete the set, all this safeguarding Durin’s line you’ve been up to. No, lass. There’s nothing really any of us can do except keep his mind off of it. He’s liable to slip if he dwells too long. This mission is helpful, for certain, and rebuilding a kingdom will do the trick. But once we get to the end of that, we’ll focus on crossing that bridge. Don’t worry, _azaghâlith._ He’s got a whole crowd in his corner. We’ll see he keeps his head.”

She tried to take the assurance to heart. She truly believed her words to Thorin the night before: he did not act as one who could be suffering from some treasure-covetous mania. “Did it happen to anyone else like it did him?”

He shook his head. “Not to the same degree. Of course, it ain’t just a selective infliction. Can happen to anyone, dwarf or no. But none of us had a kingship to defend. That’s bound to…emphasize some things. We’re all guilty o’ startin’ that war, and we know it.”

“But you ended it and pushed the orcs back. I’d say you made up for it in the end.”

A small grin ruffled his mustache. “You’ve got some nerve, supportin’ us, if I’m to be honest. Makes me wonder what exactly you’re doin’ here. ”

Nobody could ever call Dwalin, son of Fundin, naïve, and anybody who escaped the consequences of sneaking around him could count themselves lucky. “The orcs are still roaming around Eriador. A little bad for business when all my clients are getting attacked.”

He snorted. “Aye. Ah, you, missy, better keep a hold of your own head. I’d hate to see ya lose it.”

“Yeah, you and me both.”

Taking a long swallow, he set his cup down and grabbed the remaining bite of bread from his plate. “We’re taking off as soon as everyone’s awake,” he said as he rose off the bench. “Stonewall’s not but a stone’s throw away. We’ll ride into the night and spend the morning in bed there.”

She nodded, watching him until he disappeared from the room.

The worst thing she could do right now was let all this good fortune go to her head. She walked on a thin line, and as everything she harbored within herself grew in mass, her chances of toppling into the wrong side increased. If she was going to play with fire, she needed to be prepared for the little burns. Already, the heat of sneaking around was getting to her. Unlike Thorin, she did not have the luxury of an ear to talk into without receiving judgment in return.

                       *****************

The company rested well into the morning and actively lobbied for much longer than that. Dwalin, with most of his hindrances cleared away, forced each one of them up just before eleven, giving them half an hour to pull their things together and be ready to march. As she brushed Shadow down, Cori watched them steadily trickle into the stables and ready their mounts. She smirked at the boys and how much worse they seemed to be than everyone else. At least she knew when to call it quits. And then Thorin emerged, perfectly immaculate, and prepared with orders to bark. He had a last-minute meeting with the lord of Ereven earlier in the morning, so whatever drink had plagued him was long since washed away in political civility. “Eat now or be prepared to do so in the saddle. We will not stop until we reach Stonewall.”

Cori stood at Shadow’s head, sharing an apple with him, while her gaze followed Thorin through his routine with his own pony. The rigidity was back in his posture and the tenacity he always boasted lengthened his stride. The ghosts of the past that rose up against him the previous night seemed to have left him some time ago. Or that was what he needed his company to think. He put up a convincing front, though. She would watch him from now on, and be a willing ear whenever he needed it. Instead of questioning this sudden desire for devotion to him, she accepted it; while her feelings may have been forced into secret, they would not allow her to abandon him. It was only what a true friend would do.

With sleep-heavy groans and many complaints, the company set out at noon with a swift pace to reach the next town. The journey would be short, seeing them in Stonewall sometime after dark. Brief, however, did not translate to any lack of complications.

“That’s…not good,” Kíli spoke aloud what everyone had been thinking. They all stopped in the middle of the path to stare at the ground. Far ahead of them, fresh horse tracks imprinted into the snowy mud. They had so far gone on for miles, and each one that passed increased the tension in the group by just a little more. There were far too many for comfort.

“What do you think, Fíli?” Thorin inquired, clearly needing no assistance in discerning the situation. Fíli looked taken aback for a moment, but he quickly recovered and slipped on his crown prince mask.

“I think we must hurry. This can only mean trouble.”

Thorin nodded, checking his pony. “I agree. Move on.”

Any fogginess remaining in the dwarves’ heads dissipated, and everyone tensed with unease and anticipation.

By nightfall, they had reached a hill which the dwarves said would overlook the valley in which Stonewall sat. This town was different than the others, formed out of homes and businesses carved into the sides of a hill sloping upward from a wide stream. The pathways from one place to another were in open air. It sounded uncannily similar to the Shire’s structuring of smials. It was a rare occurrence for dwarves to reside in circumstances so often passing beneath the stars, but the mountainside holding the rich coal veins was not large enough or stable enough to be hollowed out for homes as well as the mines. They were unsettlingly exposed, giving the company more plausibility in their apprehension.

As it turned out, Fíli’s intuition was quite keen. When the company crested the hill, they were enraged but unsurprised to find the town in its current state. The clouds reflected a disturbing orange glow rising from the town. Stonewall was in flames.

“Ride!” Thorin shouted, and each dwarf spurred their pony into a speedy descent down the path. At that moment, Shadow chose to spook at the sudden spike of activity. Cori just managed to adjust her seat and pull him under control by the time the group disappeared. When she reached the bottom, they had all scattered and materialized into the haze of smoke covering the town.

“Bothersome little…” she muttered as she searched for a familiar face. The frenzy smothered any hope of that; dwarves ran about with their weapons brandished and terrifying shouts flying from them. They were quite busy with their assailants to pay her any heed, let alone give directions.

Masked men in dark cloaks ran around the town, tossing torches into any untouched buildings and engaging the dwarves in ferocious combat. Unlike the dwellings of the hobbits, rock formed most of the homes, but what lay inside caught fire quickly; smoke poured from smashed windows and open doors. Many unfortunate victims already lay prone in the streets, and the stream running through the center of town flowed dirty with blood. They had no warning. The men were merciless.

This was slaughter. Senseless, barbaric, bloodthirsty slaughter.

Gritting her teeth against the heat rushing through her boiling blood, Cori jumped from Shadow’s saddle at the same time that she pulled her bow from her back. Each arrow she loosed was fueled by rage and sent with a maddened shout to meet their mark directly. Despite the feverish flurry in which she shot, every hit was fatal. As the men fell one by one, grasping at the protrusions seeping blood, the hobbit watched with seething satisfaction. She saw the face of little Enna, frightened and hysterical as these devils ripped her from her family. They killed her mother and nearly blinded her father, leaving him with no hope for his only child’s survival. These “monsters” deserved to suffer as their victims suffered then and now. Every strike of her arrows made sure that there would not be another Enna by their hands.

As more and more perished beneath her fury, those nearby turned their sights to their comrades’ killer. Cori felt her heart stutter when three Men simultaneously set their wicked sights on her. The black cloths covering their faces and the hoods strewn over their heads created an image to be feared, as was their motive. With such a garb, they had not anticipated the inherent bravado of their opponents; scare tactics did not sway dwarves. They would do no such thing to her either.

The Men charged for her, intent on slicing through an easy target with their wet, bloody swords. Cori would not fold so easily as they expected beneath their advances. She sprinted toward them, dropping to the ground to slide between their legs. Popping up on one knee, she twisted around and shot, embedding an arrow into one of their necks before they could turn around. Before the other two could comprehend what happened, she jumped up and ran. It was no retreat, only bait, and they took it. They were soon on her tail.

Rain began to fall, cold and misty, working with the haze of the smoke to obscure the chaos. Somehow, though, as she sprinted around combatants (nearly receiving decapitation from a lusty dwarrowdam with an ax) Cori spotted the brothers, predictably side by side. They stood next to another dam, all working together to defend the two children shrinking behind her skirts. Without pausing, Cori sent an arrow toward one of their opponents, but her pursuers did not allow her a moment to check if her aim was true or dispense another shot. She had to keep running.

She reached the town square with all of the breath in her lungs spent. The frigid air clawed down her throat and in her chest, and she choked on the smoke. Stopping next to a statue, she leaned against it for cover as she watched the direction she had come from. Within a moment, the Men appeared through the mist, skidding to a halt as they searched around in circles. They did not see her. Licking her chapped lips in delight, Cori reached over her shoulder.

Nothing there.

She sneered and growled with animalistic ferocity. All her hard effort wasted on this filth! She drew her sword instead and stepped out into the open. They had no compassion, no remorse, for those they mindlessly cut down and the families they tore apart. She would have none for them either.

She charged them with a cry that ripped out of her aching throat, her blade balanced between both hands. They had only spotted her when she sliced upward at the man closest to her. She caught him across the thigh just as he lunged for her, ducking when he tumbled over her with an enraged and agonized cry. As the other one followed, she thrust her sword into his gut, wrenching it out with a scream when he toppled into the mud with a choked shriek of pain. He did not live to see his partner’s death. With a final cry, she swept the sword over the first one’s neck, cleanly slicing his throat and ending his miserable life.

Gasping in between coughs, Cori stared down at the carnage that lay at her feet. Tears sprang from her eyes and rolled down her dirty cheeks. She had no sorrow for this lot. Never before had she desired the blood of another so earnestly. She watched the rain wash the red from her sword and smelled the copper-tinged scent of death. _I did that,_ she thought as the life drained from her felled opponents. They would never wake again. She had changed the course of things just with a stroke of her sword, no matter how menial the effect would be. Her feet sloshed through puddles as she backed away, unable to take her eyes off the bodies.

“Cori!” She jerked around just in time to almost be crushed by Dwalin as he came to a slow stop beside her. Oh, yes, there was a battle going on. “I lost Thorin! Have you seen him?”

She blinked the chilling drops from her eyes, looking around as if the dwarf would suddenly appear out of the air. Anxiety quickly squeezed her chest when her search came up fruitless. “No.” She cleared her throat, wincing when it pinched. “But Fíli and Kíli were somewhere back the other way.” A cracked battle cry drew near to them. While she was slow to react, Dwalin readily swung his ax to cut into the darer. She bumped into him trying to avoid the falling soldier. “What’s going on?”

“Haven’t stopped to ask, lass.” He nudged her upright with his arm, Grasper and Keeper still clenched in both hands. He gave little heed to her state, focusing around them. A new group of Men circled them like vultures, none so stupid as the first. They would wait for the right moment to strike together. “If you feel the need to know, be my guest.”

Cori shivered, and not just because of the cold. These were no ordinary raiders or bandits like the ones she often encountered on the road. They had trained, a fact attested by their muscles and size. This was an organized assault, and they were prepared. Only six of them surrounded the pair, but together, they would be a match for even Dwalin. “Stay near me,” he murmured to the hobbit pressed up against his back.

She would watch out for him so long as she still stood, but the chances of her remaining on her feet, or in the world of the living, for very long had slimmed down drastically. But she gripped her sword with shaking hands anyway, readying herself to take as many with her as she could manage.

Before any moves could be made, however, a bright light blinded them all just as a strong wave of air pushed them back. Cori dropped like a leaf, sliding several feet across the path. Before she could recover her senses, Dwalin’s heavy mass curled around her protectively. But there was no need to shield her. In a flurry of grey robes, the source of the light swiftly eradicated each masked man. It was over by the time Cori could focus on the newcomer. When the figure finally came to a stop, the dwarf and hobbit laughed, for there was only one person they knew who sported a pointed hat such as that. “Gandalf!” Dwalin called cheerfully, hauling a stunned Cori to her feet.

“Good evening, friends,” the grey wizard greeted, adjusting his grip on both his long elvish sword and his staff. When he laid eyes on the girl, his shock shown strongly. “Cori Houndberry. What brings you here where no hobbit should be?”

Attempting to catch her breath, she pointed an accusing finger at Dwalin. “Dwarves.”

“Ah.” Because Gandalf knew that that alone was a perfectly acceptable explanation.

With greetings postponed, the three returned their attention to the battle. However, no Men remained in the square, and the sounds of fighting had waned. Off in the distance, the hooves of sprinting horses pounded down the street and out of the town. A triumphant cheer rose above the buildings, signaling the dwarves’ victory. Cori sighed, for no more blood would be shed tonight.

“Are you quite all right, my dear?” Gandalf asked, approaching her cautiously. Dwalin whipped around sharply to face her.

Her entire body shook, and her knees were a small push away from giving out entirely. She felt a small sting in her shoulder, but otherwise, there was no pain outside of the stretched muscles in her sword arm. “I’m fine. Just…need a moment.”

Dwalin looped an arm around her waist, holding her up against his side. She leant into him gratefully, soaking in his contact.

“As I said,” Gandalf mumbled with a sniff, “no place for a hobbit.”

She had no strength to argue.

Through the smoke and lightened rain, Thorin appeared between two burning hills, flanked by his nephews. Fíli and Kíli looked no worse for wear, if a bit disheveled. Thorin seemed positively untouched. “Gandalf,” he greeted, sheathing Orcrist soundly. His eyes wandered over to the other two standing nearby, narrowing on the hobbit. They blazed with alarm, and he took a step toward them as he glanced at Dwalin.

“She’s fine,” the dwarf answered for her, slowly retracting his arm as Cori attempted to stand on her own. She was tired, but quite all right.

Thorin nodded, satisfied, deflating in relief. He turned back toward the wizard. “Impeccable timing.”

“Not quite. I was already here.” Gandalf glared at the carnage at their feet, tipping his hat over to let the water drip from it now that only mist fell from the sky.

“Care to explain how you always seem to be where trouble surfaces?”

“That’s not it,” Cori said with a shaky voice, trying to convey her recovery through a smile. “He always brings the trouble with him.”

Gandalf pressed a hand to his hip, glowering at her with pursed lips. “Very kind of you, Miss Houndberry. A truly heartfelt compliment. Might we take this conversation elsewhere?”

The company reunited once the fires were extinguished and injuries to the townsfolk had begun to be tended to. After making sure everyone was unharmed, they separated once more to help with the immediate recovery. The king, his closest consultants, the wizard, and the hobbit took shelter from the new wave of rain that poured down on the dismantled town, assembling around a fire built beneath a tent that had escaped the blaze. A blanket fell over Cori’s shoulders, and two concerned dwarves sat on either side of her, offering their warmth and security. She felt her energy returning quickly.

Gandalf lit his pipe before he spoke. “Word reached me that you were on your way to the west, tending to your kin. As you may have guessed, what has befallen you fellow dwarves has not been lost to me.”

“Not much gets by you anyway,” Thorin replied with a grin. He seemed exceedingly pleased that the wizard was here. “What have you learned?”

Gandalf blew out a smoky breath in preparation. “As you may have guessed, this is the work of rogue men who claim no homeland, yet they seem to be outcasts from Rohan and Gondor alike. No matter where they hail from, they are entirely devoted to their cause. What that cause is precisely, I have yet to discover. However, one in particular is leading the operation, somebody with a personal vendetta against dwarves. I’ve studied his movements over the course of the past year or so. From that, I concluded that he is either trying to completely wipe out the dwarves or drive them east. For certain, he wants them out of the mountains.”

“So only dwarves?” Fíli confirmed. “Why have the orcs branched out then?”

“Obviously, orcs cannot be controlled so easily over such a wide range. While he’s ordered them to assist in attacking dwarf settlements, they are taking the opportunity to cause havoc elsewhere amongst Men. Lord Elrond and those residing in Mithlond have dispatched soldiers to bring the creatures under control.”

“What about Men?” Thorin asked.

Gandalf grumbled around the stem of his pipe. “Only the Rangers have taken action, and they have pushed back with earnest, I might say.”

“They would leave their own race to be slaughtered?” Dwalin growled with disgust.

“The only occupation of Men aside from the Rangers forcible enough to take out the orcs is in the South. The gravity of the situation has not quite hit them yet. They believe the strong elf and dwarf presence here in the North can repel them before they have to send troops up here.”

“Of course, we are left to do the work.” Dwalin desperately needed a moment to clear his head or it was going to pop right off his shoulders. But he stayed put, bouncing his knuckles against his knee. The repetitive thumping was annoying, but it would do all in the vicinity of world of good.

“What could he possibly want with the mountains?” Thorin murmured. He seemed to teeter on the edge of holding it together himself. “Dwarves have occupied Ered Luin since the First Age. It has never traded hands. What do the mountains have that some lone human would profit from?”

“And why is he not attacking the Grey Havens?” Cori spoke up after her long silence. “The elves may not be as numerous, but they still own part of this land.”

“Unless it’s not the land that he’s after,” Gandalf suggested.

“Dwarves have not had any real quarrels with Men,” Thorin continued. “Not as we’ve had with elves.”

“And that was how I decided it was a personal matter. My knowledge on his motives ends there.”

“So you have no name?” Thorin inquired.

“Of course, I do. It took a bit of persuasion from one of his accomplices, who I imagine will not be returning to his leader after letting such a thing slip. He seems to have a ruthless hold over his men, which does not surprise me when taking into account his prior deeds. He is Ryone, son of Ryden.”

Cori closed her eyes, for they would surely betray her were any of her companions to glimpse her. Somehow, she had known who it was. The pattern was too congruent. It was suddenly harder to breathe than before.

“What did he do before this?” Kíli asked.

Gandalf puffed another frustrated cloud from his mouth and nose. “He is the one responsible for the attacks on Ered Luin twelve years ago.”

“Ah!” Dwalin exclaimed, making Cori in her uneasy state jump to the moon. Fíli gave her an inquisitive look which she ignored. “I knew I’d seen this before. Those scum were so easy to drive off back then, I never even gave ‘em a bit o’ thought after that.”

“They were only briefly disbanded,” Gandalf said. “Ryone has gathered them together again, and they are making another attempt. Only, this time, they seem to be better equipped for the task. Whatever methods they are using have proven effective. They took advantage of last year’s drought to begin, then swung harder and mightier with the winter. Most of the dwarves had already left for the Lonely Mountain, and if things persist, the rest will follow or perish.”

Suddenly, Thorin got up and kicked the dirt, pacing off with fists clenched at his side. “We had him! We cornered him after he attempted to hit Ereven, but he slipped through as we laid into his scrawny army. I could’ve sent soldiers to pursue him, but I saw no more threat from him once his men had been disposed of.”

“We can dwell on the might-have-beens until the waking of the sun,” Gandalf said sternly. “It will do us no good in the end. We must focus on what will be. Last I heard, he was regrouping in Emyn Uial, near Lake Evendim, after sustaining a heavy blow near the Gulf. Most of his orcish forces are spent and tossed into the wind. He is relying more on his small corps of likeminded men.”

“Then we will take them out at the source,” Thorin said. “We will send a raven to Arin immediately and call for troops to meet us there.”

“Caution,” Gandalf warned, as if he had expected this reaction. “Their force may be small, but as you saw tonight, they are strong and cunning. These are not ordinary soldiers, nor are they barbaric Easterlings or whatever they parade themselves as, but well-organized men of the South who have been trained.”

“And as we have also proven tonight, we are not to be trifled with either.” Thorin looked to his troop awaiting orders. “We make for the Hills of Evendim and find the human maggot who dares cross us. We end this before more lives are lost.”

The dwarves agreed fervently and vocally. They finally had a direct goal, a name though no face just yet. But it was enough. It was more than they had gotten in weeks.

Cori attempted an encouraging grin when Thorin found her eyes, but even she could tell it was weak. He was too strung by the revelation of a new plan to notice, now. Hopefully, she could keep out of sight her reluctance to go anywhere their target could be.

As much as it would batter her pride into the dirt, had she not pledged herself and her heart to this company legally and personally, she would be out now, gone to the wind, before any of them suspected it was because she had something to hide.

Gandalf was ready to protest once more, but he shook his head in defeat. There was no battling the stubbornness of dwarves. “Then I wish you luck, my friends. Take good care of your little hobbit.” He sent a wink to her.

“Don’t worry, Gandalf.” Kíli tossed an arm around her shoulder. “She’s made it this far with us. She’ll see the end of it.”

It was the state in which she will be at the end that had her own sureness waning.

The bodies of the fallen enemy were piled unceremoniously and burned as well as could be accomplished with the wet conditions. Fog had settled in the valley, mixing with the smoke to obscure everything aside from the eerie orange glow that still hung over the town. No building was left untouched by the destructive hand of Men and flames; the dwarves of Stonewall had nowhere to go and very little left to call their own. They certainly could not stay where they were.

“They will go back to Ereven,” Thorin announced to the town leaders. “To rest and regain soundness of mind. Those halls will accept and shelter any in need without a second thought.”

The refugees accepted the offer.

Midnight had come and gone before they could gather the dead to carry with them back to Ereven. There, they would be able to lay their loved ones beneath stone rather than send them off in the same manner as those that slew them. Many were injured as well. A shortage of animals to carry them and able-bodied warriors to defend against any further attacks came to the attention of the company, and they would not leave before they saw it rectified. Four of their guards, including Ion, would leave with the townsfolk, and all of them would relinquish their ponies, fully intending to return to collect them before making for home at the end of all this. And that meant every pony.

“It’s all right,” Cori whispered as she petted Shadow’s furry cheek, grinning despite herself. “He’s needed there more than with us, I know.”

Thorin squeezed her shoulder. “I will send orders with them to have him tended to as best they can while he’s there. They will take good care of him, I promise.”

His job turned out to be very important. One of the town leaders had sustained a wound to his leg. Cori held Shadow as the dwarrowdam helped her husband onto the grey’s back. “You be good now,” she whispered, kissing his velvet nose. “Where we’re going is no place for you, I’m afraid. And I certainly don’t want you to be there either. If something happens, well, I need to know you’ll be all right. But I will come back for you, you hear? We’re not done, you and I. We still have a long journey ahead of us.” Sniffing, she handed the reins to the woman. “He’s a special one. He’ll see you there without a bit of trouble.”

She nodded with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Cori bit into her lip as she watched her brave little pony disappear with the crowd. A day had not gone by over the past three years that he had been in her care where she did not tend to him, no matter where they happened to end up. He had been there, a steadfast force in her whirlwind of a life. And then he was swept away, just like that, and he left with her the possibility of never seeing him again. She hoped with all her heart that she was the one taken rather than the other way around. How could she bear that? Where would she be without him now?

When a warm arm wrapped around her shoulders, she realized she was not the only one who owed him her life. Fíli hugged her closely. “You share a bond with him unlike anything I’ve seen before. I knew it from the moment you two picked me up out of that canyon. It won’t be long before you are back in action together.

She smiled gratefully, hugging him back. “I know.”

Gandalf announced that he would be accompanying them down the mountains for a while, breaking away in the foothills to make a path toward the Grey Havens. The dwarves requested his counsel on the matter further, but he swore that he had answers to pursue with the elves. Their paths would cross again eventually, and while he wished they would wait for him to march on Ryone, he knew their eagerness would not hold fast to such a promise. He opted to bring up the many times Thorin had seen fit to disregard such requests in the past, and the dwarf assured him nothing had changed.

Still, Cori wished he could stick around for a little longer, though it was nice to sit with him next to a campfire once again, as she had done frequently in her travels. The wizard tended to bring about good luck in equal share with the bad luck he followed.

And they would need every ounce of fortune they could get their hands on against this force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> azaghâlith: little warrior
> 
> Yay! Finally, some action! And plot! Looks like the dwarves have a direction, but it isn't quite one that Cori wants to go. Also, the Thorin/Dwalin relationship in the movies is like my absolute favorite thing in the entire trilogy, so I couldn't go without hinting to something special there. I love those two so much!
> 
> I'm going out of town next week so I'll get one more chapter in this weekend before I leave. I don't know when the next one will be after that, but I'll try not to make it too long of a wait. But I assure you I'll leave you with something great. ;D


	20. The King's Bare Heart

Descending from Ered Luin took a week and a half, bringing the company upon the River Lune as mid-April bloomed. The days grew warmer as they came into the foothills, and consequently, so did their moods. Their steps fell merry and energized. The dwarves anticipated delivering justice at last, so no one complained when Thorin pushed the pace just a little higher. In the revelry of finally gaining enough knowledge on their enemy to be more useful than a sword hanging on a wall, waiting for a cold trail to spark back to life, their defenses were down.

They did not expect bandits to be waiting by the river, ready to sack any traveler crossing. They paid a hefty price.

Gandalf should not have left them so soon.

The small broadsword quivered in Cori’s grip, blinking in the sunlight next to Fíli’s on her right. There was no fear in her, not for herself. The bandits surrounding them registered dimly in her mind. Her focus lay on the three dwarf guards sprawled out on the ground: still, cold, _dead_

This should not have stolen her breath as it once had, if she knew herself and what she was capable of enduring. She had seen such a thing before: a battlefield overflowing with the blood of dwarves that once held lives full of abundance and keen on the future. She had not been crippled. But now? These dwarves, steady acquaintances on their journey across Middle-earth, _died._ For her. They gave their lives so she could survive.

_It’s not right._

A sturdy hand pressed to her arm, pushing her back, and her focus left young Othor lying near her feet and returned to the situation. Danger. Bandits. Murderers.

The Men had worked them into a tight cluster in the middle of the road. But these were no ordinary vagabonds. Not likely with the way they moved as they completely eradicated the finest soldiers of the dwarven race in mere minutes. And she along with the line of Durin would be next. No one made a move, and that worried her the most.

Out of the human wall slithered a tall man with a grey coat dangling about his ankles. Long, scraggly hair hung around a thin, sinister face marred with a nasty grin and scar over the bridge of his nose. _Scar._ Cori’s blood burned like ice. Nobody could ever forget a face like that. She saw this man only from a distance and hardly paid him a lick of attention at the time, but there was no mistaking that jagged disfigurement. This one before her was only a pawn, but he and his employer shared in unimaginable hatred for innocent people searching for a place to lay their heads when everything had been taken from them. Their hearts were as black as the western sky just before first light.

With a low bow, he called out, “Hail, Thorin, son of Thráin, King Under the Mountain.”

Thorin moved, albeit marginally. Nonetheless, he had now put himself between Cori and the man. “What do you want from us?” he growled.

The leader of the renegades tapped his hairy chin. “Oh, where do I begin, Your Majesty? The list is endless. Still, we have to start somewhere, and I think yourselves will do just fine. But wait…” His cagey gaze narrowed onto Cori, the feral glint of it convincing her for a moment that he recognized her. “You have baggage.”

This time, both Fíli and Thorin closed the gap in front of her, her blade poking out between their bodies. Despite their attempts at cloaking her entirely from view, she stared the lecher straight in the face. He would not see her cower. Alas, he let out an amused guffaw. “Now, what makes this halfling so important, I wonder? It must have some use, but I don’t see one. No matter. You lot can keep your wicked schemes to yourselves; little consequence of mine who you bring into them.”

“I will give you one chance to leave, and you may yet live,” Thorin rumbled in his usual baritone, dropping it to a dangerous snarl that Cori felt through her whole body.

This time, all the Men chorused in a cacophony of laughs. Dwalin and Kíli pressed up to her back even closer. They hid their unease behind the grizzly grimaces, but Cori knew them well by now. The fall of their guards had startled them all. These Men were unpredictable, and the dwarves were uncomfortable. It rubbed off on her. But her feet stood firm as theirs did.

“You think you have the upper hand?” the marred rogue growled. “You think you have the _right_ to stand on this soil and make such demands? That mountain’s gone to your head, dwarf. It may be immovable, but that doesn’t mean you are.”

Thorin chuckled, a steady build of dry laughter that bordered darkness. It was a threatening sound. “You Men are all the same, proclaiming your _right_ to whatever you wish. You call us greedy, unworthy, but then what does that make you?”

“Honest.”

“Sanctimonious.”

For all the disgraces of dwarves that the race of Men preached, these individuals severely lacked in knowledge about their chosen enemy. While not always an agreeable trait, dwarves were as hardy and resolute as the stone they resided in. They dug into it and carved out of solid rock outstanding, prosperous civilizations. They watched their ancient halls, their homes, be stripped from their hands, then turned right around and snatched them back. No Man, elf, or hobbit ever accomplished such a feat as the retaking of Erebor. For all she found in them faulty, Cori would not deny what stood right in front of her, with evidence to boot. So when the dwarves chopped into the brutes, she knew a chance remained that they could get out of this. They could conquer not just this immediate threat, but the one they traveled all this way to meet. They could, because these dwarves would bend a knee to no one as long as they lived. It was victory or death.

With her own cry, Cori lunged for the man nearest to her, their swords clashing. The vibrations bounced around in her body, chattering her teeth together. But she pushed back, keeping low, until she slid out from beneath him. Her blade sliced across his calf as she did so. He screamed loudly while blood soaked his boot, blindly swinging his own weapon. Cori dodged each one with a chuckle, moving closer and closer until she could use his adrenaline-fed swipe as leverage to leap up and take out his jugular.

The pang in her chest she first felt in Stonewall never came. That was much too easy.

As he fell, another took his place, still recovering from the shock of seeing a tiny, pathetic, _useless_ creature take out one of his own. If she was useless, his friend was dust. His moment of hesitation was just enough time for her to thrust her sword into his chest, and she made more dust. Oh, they would know before their lives ebbed away just as his did, and as the ones before him did, that Cori Houndberry was _not_ useless. When a job had to be done, she would see it through, and right now, she had a job to take revenge for the dwarves lying in the dirt. She would make these Men beg for the mercy of death.

She stopped, those words repeating over and over in her mind. Where on Yavanna’s green earth did _that_ come from?

Suddenly, a powerful strike stung her cheek—a swift backhand from a new opponent. Before she could recover her concentration and retaliate, she fell back into open air. The muddy ground spun into view just once before the impact jarred her body straight through her shoulder. She groaned; her hobbit grace failed her, but at least her nimbleness left no damage but a dull ache. The sounds of battle seemed distant here. Maybe if she just laid for a second or two, she could catch her breath.

A thump near her head caused her to jerk back to life. An arrow had embedded into the ground right next to her face. _Come on, I didn’t take up the art just to get killed by it._ She grabbed her sword lying in the dirt and rolled just in time to avoid another. The woman who sent her tumbling fired a barrage of arrows, but she could keep up.

Then the ground was gone, and she was under water.

The swift, powerful current of the Lune dragged her from the riverbank and down into its abyss, engulfing her in its deafening roar. When she gasped, water flooded her mouth and burned like smoke in her throat. Her entire body stilled; she could not find the surface. Around and around she twirled, losing all sense of direction. For a brief moment, she breached, choking from water and too much air. Somewhere along the bank, she heard her name being called: Fíli. She searched frantically searched for his eyes, only until another wave slammed over her face. As she tumbled again, the water bashed her against rocks scattered across the bottom of the river. Pain spiked out of her back and ribs, and her mind blanked. Her vision clouded with black dots, lungs desperate for air.

She was back in the Brandywine, flailing through the water as she chased after her cousin. The very same thought she had had that day left her petrified.

_I’m going to die in here_

An arm locked tightly around her torso, and the tender skin on her back exploded in sparks at the touch. _They’re holding me under!_ She kicked and writhed, desperation for life flaring inside her limbs. _Please, let go!_ All of a sudden, her head broke through the surface, and the sweet, Valar-blessed air rejuvenated the fight in her. Her elbow jabbed into thick armor, sending numbness down her arm, until a voice worked through the ringing in her ears. “Stop! It’s me!”

Thorin.

He pulled her to his chest with one hand, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see the other desperately grabbing for shore.

_You're safe. You’ll live. Fight_

She started paddling with him. While she added little to his own efforts, it seemed like his much-flaunted dwarven strength would have gained them progress. Nonetheless, they continued floating downriver, arrows splashing in the rapids all around them. In little time, however, they passed out of the wildly-churning water and the sights of the archers. When she could finally hear her own thoughts over the growling river, she twisted around to face the brick attacked to her. “What in Arda do you think you’re doing?”

He spat water out, panting against his rowing. “Saving your arse! I still have use for it!”

“Like what? Because I certainly made a dent in their forces which, by the way, _you_ should be doing right now instead of riding down this river with me. You can let go.”

He curled an arm around her back again, yanking her against him. “I apologize for caring for your well-being! Now swim!”

She did not try to fight him. She wanted out of this river. How far down had they gone already?

In searching for a convenient embankment to catch, her eyes cast over the direction they floated. _Oh. Oh, no._ Nausea settled like rocks in her stomach. “Is that…?”

“Get to the shore!” he shouted, clawing through the water.

If they had not been able to do it before, they would not now. The rapids may have disappeared, but the current was still just as strong. They were right in the middle of the river.

And going straight over a waterfall.

 _Son of a…_ So much for living.

Instead of helping him, she tightened her arms around his neck, drawing as closely to him as she could. When he caught her eyes, he emerged from his frantic daze. He had the sense to know when to draw the line. With a nod of assurance, he held her tightly by the waist. “Do not let go.”

She affirmed, never allowing her gaze to stray to the sheer drop dissolving into the light blue horizon, rather falling into the depths of his own. She let herself be encased in the safety she found there. What was the use in being alone when the worst came if options remained?

Once more, the sensation of falling pulled like heavy weights in her stomach, twisting it into a tight knot. All the air she so diligently focused on inhaling rushed out of her at once. She closed her eyes, holding tightly as they dropped and disappeared into the spray of water below.

                      *************************

She remembered only a little.

Her feet hit first, driving her deep into the water until she could feel the churning dirt at the bottom. The pain in her tender body seared like hot knives, and her subsequent gasp filled her lungs. The plunging falls pushed her deeper still, and she started to drift away. But a large hand gripped her wrist, dragging her upwards. She did not recall finding the air. A brief flash of the shore remained, her violent upheaval of all the water onto the riverbank interrupted by her slump of exhaustion into the dirt. Before she slipped into darkness, she saw Thorin sink to the ground next to her, one hand clutching his side above his hip. His eyes scrunched and teeth gritted.

Hurt. He was hurt.

The hobbit gasped, sitting upright. Her hand immediately flew to her head. Bad, _bad_ idea. Her skull rattled with the fierce pounding of her blood, and she dug the heels of her palms into her temples. As it finally subsided, she tried opening her eyes. When burning sunlight did not cripple her incapacitated senses further, she remembered it had been close to evening when they reached the river. The waterfall roared to her right, lighting from the setting sun casting a rainbow across it. _How anticlimactic._ It sat completely out of place considering the savage trip they had just taken down that same drop. _They_

Glancing to the left, then to the right, she felt her heart sink. She was entirely alone on the riverbank. Where had that foolish dwarf gotten to? He had been beside her when they exited the water, and in pain, right? Or had the water reclaimed him in unconsciousness? Fighting the spinning in her head, Cori reached for her sword that lay beside her head and clambered to her feet. She had to start looking, and picking the wrong direction was not an option right now. Downriver was her best option, so she ambled off that way, arms wrapped tightly around her midsection.

Surely he had not left her intentionally. Those Men were a testament that any number of dangers could lurk these lands, all of which finding a prone hobbit girl to be an ample target. And sunset was only a short time away. He would not leave her there.

Her mind churned uncomfortably, and it steadily grew worse. She recognized that forlorn, sickening sensation in her gut: panic. He had been injured, and she had no idea to what extent. The dwarves were not immortal; if he was incapable of defending himself, he was in more trouble than she was. What if he was still in the water, impaired and…drowning? Oh, she would not let the end of Thorin Oakenshield come at the behest of a damned river. Not when it was her fault that he had been in it in the first place.

“Thorin!” she called, nervously eyeing the sunlight disappearing from the tops of the trees on the opposite bank. At the same time, she checked its shores. Uneasy with her position, she picked up the pace. “Thorin, where are you?” It was becoming hard to breathe as she gazed across the water, hoping yet dreading to see a mess of dark hair pop out of it. She bit her lip when it threatened to quiver. “Thorin!”

“Cori.” The word appeared out of the bushes next to her, and as she whirled around in fright and eagerness, the pacification of that one utterance in that deep, gentle rumble covered her like a warm, soft fur. He was soaked and dripping, slight caution in his usually heavy steps, but he was whole. Alive, unbroken, and grinning at her after performing a quick once-over. The breath she had been holding rushed out of her all at once, and she lunged forward to throw herself around his neck and against his chest. It was all she could do, and she never knew she could need something so badly as his touch at that moment. He caught her with a grunt, but held her close anyway, head pressed to the side of hers. One hand ran up and down her back, and she squeezed her eyes against the ache in her throat. “It’s all right,” he murmured, his voice the most tender it had ever been.

After she had gotten her fill, paying no mind to the flames in her cheeks, she pulled away. Even if she had not wanted it to, one hand still gripped his coat. He made no mention of it, checking her face and down the rest of her body. “I’m fine,” she assured him shakily. “Where did you go?”

“To find a road. I had no intention of going far. You wouldn’t wake.”

“Did you?”              

He shook his head. “We will probably have to return to the top of the cliff. The river could not have carried us far.”

“You scared me,” she blurted out before she could stop herself, caring little for how close she stood to him. She had feared the worst, and his contact was reassuring.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her back in for another hug. She should not indulge too much in it, but it felt so good. “We will not make it back before dark. We’ll have to camp for the night and hope the others know to stay put.”

Suddenly, Cori became aware of how cold she was. The warm days still gave way to chilly nights, even when she was not waterlogged. She locked her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

Moving further into the trees, they chose a clearing with large boulders sticking up from the ground to hunker down. Once they lit a small fire with salvaged kindling, a warm glow bathed the rocks and surrounding trees. By the time all had been taken care of, the sun had disappeared completely, leaving behind a rapidly cooling landscape. Cori could not stop the shivers no matter how hard she tensed. If the air did not chill her enough, she could not stop thinking of their ruined and separated company.

Their companions were dead. The dwarves they had traveled with for so long were gone, just like that. They did nothing wrong, only daring to fight a war for survival. No one had grounds to take lives in any way, and certainly not for no reason at all. The injustice churned her blood.

“You will only get worse if you keep your soaked jacket on.” Thorin pulled her from the downward spiral of her thoughts. He had done just that, setting his cloak aside to dry by the fire, and even removing his brigandine, until only his tunic and trousers remained.

Her jaw ached from her chattering teeth, and her skin would not smooth out from the pebbles on it. The last time this happened, it did not end quite so well. She did not recover fully for several weeks afterward. “Right.” Tugging her dripping furs and leathers off, she stripped down to her trousers and stays.

“Here.” Thorin pulled something from his bag. The contents seemed to have been spared a great deal of water from their swim. In his hand was a piece of Durin blue clothing, and he held it out to her. “Might be big, but it’s dry enough.”

She eyed the garment, as if waiting for it to come alive. “You sure?”

Something flashed within his eyes, something she could not place. “You cannot keep those on either. It’s this, or naked. Your choice.”

With a smile of gratitude, she accepted the tunic. “As much as I enjoy obliging a challenge, I think I’d better stick with propriety.”

His smirk was shameless. “Pity, that.”

She slipped it on, trying to decipher the sudden fire in his eyes that made her spine tingle. Beneath it, she undid the strings of her stays and pulled the thick material out, then laid out her trousers with everything else. The tender, bruised skin of her back breathed out in relief; the soft material of the tunic soothed the ache away. The cloth was slightly damp, but it was better than the sodden things she had on. Hoping to encourage it to dry out just a little more so she could at least be comfortable, she moved down in front of the fire. Reaching up, she proceeded to braid her curly hair into a dark crown around her head. The concentration helped her relax, allowing her heart and mind to ease from the blow of the day. Maybe it would lull her into drowsiness so she could actually get some sleep, but it was not looking promising.

“Were you pushed in?” Thorin scrubbed another shirt through his hair, undoing his braids with a sneer. Surprisingly, he left them out. She had seen him once or twice without his hair braided, but never did he leave it for very long, especially not in the company of his men. However, he made no move to redo them, setting the clothing aside and settling next to the fire. His eyes flickered against the dancing flames as he looked to her.

“I didn’t mean to, but I went in myself. Considering my precarious position, I probably would’ve done it voluntarily anyway.”

His brows hiked up. “But you said you were afraid—”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t swim,” she interrupted before he finished that forsaken phrase. “I forced myself to learn. I knew I wouldn’t be able to survive in the wild without at least knowing how to get back to the shore. Most of it was done paddling in shallow streams, though, so I guess it didn’t quite help me in such a powerful current as that.”

“No one could fight that. I knew we couldn’t make it out. I just counted on the force of the rapids slackening somewhere down the line. I never factored in a waterfall.” He tossed another piece of wood on the fire. “To be entirely honest, I’ve never been much for swimming either. I suppose we make it difficult for ourselves, wearing so much armor.”

“Then why’d you do it?” she asked, tucking her legs underneath her and wrapping her arms around herself. “Why’d you jump in?”

A rosy flush blossomed on his cheeks. “I saw you in the water, and then you went under. But you didn’t come back up. I feared the worst. I…didn’t think, just jumped in.”

Cori could not say whether she would have been able to find the surface or not. No use in telling him that she could have. “You shouldn’t have.”

He cocked his head. “Would you rather I left you to be swept downstream by yourself? For all I knew, you had been shot.”

“Defending your kin was more important, though. Remaining to avenge the soldier’s deaths. That should have been your priority.”

“Are you trying to advise me on my decision-making, Miss Houndberry?” he asked with a grin. He fished out a pack of dried venison and ripped off a chunk. “The boys were right. You have become brazen.”

“Thorin, they’re dead!” she shouted as if informing him of something he did not already know. He acted as if he did not. The mirth fell from his face instantly at the sight of her distress. “Othor, Brur, Vhatner. They’re all lying dead on that road, felled by those disgusting bastards! Even if they are buried in the dirt, they won’t be under stone. They’ll never receive a proper send off to the Halls of Aulë. Not in the way they deserve for what they sacrificed. For us. For _me._ ” She pulled her knees up to her chin and hugged her legs. Her jaw quivered again, though not driven by the cold. She could not get Othor’s eyes out of her head.

She did not look up when she heard shuffling in the grass, but when an arm curled around her shoulders and pulled her against a warm body, she tensed. “I know,” he murmured softly. “How could I not? It is not the first time I’ve witnessed lives slain for my sake. It does not ease the mind, nor is it a triumph in my eyes, to be spared while others are not. But it is a relief to know that they would not have wanted to be taken to the Halls of Waiting any other way. Dwarves find honor in falling in combat. I know it is not something you understand, but believe me, it is most venerable. They will be remembered properly upon our return to Erebor.”

“Thorin, I…” She sniffed, feeling herself weaken within his hold. She gave in and leaned against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder. “No one’s ever died for me. They shouldn’t have to. I’m not worthy of that.”

“Of course, you are,” he whispered into her hair. “I will not waste time listing your qualities, but they are not lacking. They found your merit to be enough of a sacrifice. They all thought highly of you. Trust me; they were not stingy about your praises, even when you weren’t in the room.”

He did not know. He did not understand. None of them did. How could they? But she was _not_ worthy.

“I hope you never have to grow accustomed to death,” he continued. “That is not a fate I would want for you. I dread the idea of you ever having to witness such a thing again. Or ever being in a position of fighting for your life.” His grip tightened, swallowing her beneath his arm.

She burrowed into his side, finding that the vexations of her mind lessoned when his scent came so close to her.

He chuckled softly. “Such a tender heart to care for others the way you do. Wisdom beyond your years, and yet still innocent in a way.”

“Are you insinuating by all this that I’m too naïve for the road?”

“Absolutely not. You talk more sense than anyone else does most of the time.”

She chuffed a small laugh. Her darling dwarves did have thick heads.

They sat in pleasant silence, listening to the soft pops of the fire and the rustle of wind in the trees. Cori could feel the potential in her to worry even more, especially for the three dwarves that remained to fight the Men. But she knew them. Dwalin would not be bested easily, and he would let no harm come to the princes before he was incapacitated. She could let her mind relax and focus on a plan to get back to them as soon as possible. After that, what they would do was anyone’s guess.

At some point, Thorin reached forward to slide another branch into the fire, but he suddenly stopped and drew in a long hiss. He had been too late to school his face when she lifted her head to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Just strained muscles in my back. It is nothing, I swear.”

Refraining from making a joke about old dwarves throwing their backs out, she pulled away from him. Her superficial aches would have to fend for themselves, but she knew she could help his. “Do you trust me?”

He stared back at her, slightly wary of what had prompted the question. “Of course.”

“Then take off your shirt.”

His brow arched high, his bristled cheeks lifting somewhat. “Now, lass…”

She popped him on the shoulder with her hand. “Oh, hush up and do what I say.”

That fire in his eyes flared up again. “Yes, ma’am.” As his shirt lifted over his head, Cori immediately regretted ever speaking the command. Surely a bright blush had spread throughout her entire body at the mere sight of what lay beneath illuminated by the firelight. She tried not to focus too long on the hairy, inked skin covering striking muscles and rose onto her knees.

“Now lay on your stomach.”

True to his word, he obeyed, flattening out on his tunic.

 _Oh, this will end me in a dwarven prison, I know._ But with a mindset to plead the well-being of their king should she ever face judgment for her brash actions tonight, she let her body do as it willed. She tossed a leg over him and settled just below his lower back. Before her lay a line of ink stretched over his upper back and curved up toward his shoulders. Dwarven runes, though what they said she could never begin to decipher. She ran a finger over them, and he tensed.

Hair brushed to one side, his curious eye met hers over his shoulder. “May I ask where this is going?’

“Just relax. Take deep breaths.” Softly, she laid her hands on the bare skin just above his trousers, pressing her thumbs into the flesh. Those were definitely hard knots. So not a sprain, just twisted. She let her explorative hands wander upward toward the runes, searching through his back. Despite having visibly relaxed into the ground, his muscles had not. No wonder he seemed to walk around with a steel spine. This must have been bothering him for some time. “How did you manage this?” she asked quietly, returning to the small of his back to roll her thumbs across the prominent knot on the left side.

“I am not as young as I used to be.” His visible eye lazily dropped closed.

“And yet you still act like you’re just passed a hundred.”

His stomach flexed in a short laugh. “I’ve been fighting for my life for as long as I can remember. I feel that will be my fate until I can no longer lift an ax.”

“You’ve got a whole kingdom at your disposal. Why not just let others do the fighting and rest? You’ve earned it.”

He grinned. “Thank you, darling. But it is not in my blood to let others battle in my stead. It is not the way of the sons of Durin. I will rest when I am put under stone. Until then, I must protect that kingdom at all costs. It’s why I am out here now.”

She had been able to admit it even when she did not fancy him, or even when she could hardly speak on friendly terms with him: she had never met a nobler man—dwarf—in her life. She believed what he said, and had seen it with her own eyes. Her lip caught between her teeth as she focused on her kneading hands. If only she had the grit…

“Does that please you?”

She jerked to attention, suddenly realizing his eye was on her again. It burned right into her. “Uh, what?”

“I know battle has very little significance in hobbit culture, even in your Buckland. Your family would be content to never have to touch a weapon at any point in the future.”

She pressed down on a knot below his right shoulder blade, and he groaned. “I can appreciate a sharp blade and a strong arm behind it. They have, after all, kept me alive over the past few months. Which, I’m grateful for.”

“I would have done anything to keep you around,” he murmured, gaze suddenly clearer. “I have told you before that I do not believe in coincidence. Things happen as they do because they were meant to, no matter what force is behind it. For so long, I wondered why a hobbit would be brought back into my life—in my home, no less, and the least likely place to ever find one. So I could not brush you aside, even when I thought it a hazard to let you remain.”

“You thought I was a spy,” she snickered. After what he had witnessed with Bilbo and the stroke of luck that allowed him to sneak around a dragon (and her entrance into their secret meeting in Rivendell hardly helped), she did not blame him.

“For the elves,” he chuckled. “It made sense that the pointed ears would collaborate. My opinion as well as my knowledge of hobbits had grown at that point, but I knew there was a possibility of you being an outlier. What with that little mischievous gleam in your eye and that turned-up nose anytime you spoke to me. Mahal, the entertainment alone would’ve sufficed in keeping your company for a while longer.”

“What gleam?” she murmured quietly, feeling her ruddy cheeks glow.

“ _What gleam_? My dear, you are a little ball of flame. I’ve felt your heat enough to know that you are a danger to play with, just as any lit pit in a forge would be. Or better yet, a bushfire, entirely out of control. I could never hope to do that—contain you, I mean. You will do as you please, no matter how many commands I give.”

Her hands paused, breath hitching. He could not possibly have a hold entirely on his words now. They sounded too…admiring, amative. He acted besotted, though not in the manner that he did the last time he had had too much ale. There was not even any ale to be drunk here. “Thorin…”

“Curious, isn’t it?” One arm unfolded from beneath his chin, and he slid it down the side of his body until it brushed against her exposed leg. His palm curled around the top of her knee. “How I could be perfectly fine with that. I have only ever known how to be in authority, and how to maintain it, and yet I’ve never been able to do that with you. I cannot force you, and I don’t want to. Curious how I could find a match in wits so alluring, enticing, when I would think it’d be insufferable.” He blew out a harsh sigh, the grass shifting against it. “I have no explanation for it.”

“Thorin, I…”

“No, you do not care for this _king,_ ” he said with a hint of a smile in his voice, though it did not seem as if he were addressing her entirely. “You do not care for the crown I wear, or the seat I sit upon, or the twofold cursed gold that I possess. Power does not matter to you; it is why you are so willful in the faces of those who have it. I suppose that is a good enough justification for it.”

“For what?” she croaked, trying to keep her heart from leaping from her chest as it was wont to do.

“Why I care for you.” He twisted around beneath her until he lay on his back staring into her eyes, his hair haphazardly spread around his head. Large, warm hands glided up her bare thighs, tantalizingly slowly and high enough to make her sweat. His face fell on her softly. “I am able to be Thorin with you, when all others require my title and my position and the wretched blood that was forced onto me. You have ever been my greatest confidant ever since we have started this journey.”

When he sat up, slipping his arms around her waist and holding her tightly to his chest, Cori felt everything shift. From that moment on, she knew nothing would be the same for her, even on until her body lay within the dirt for the reshaping of the world. And when he leaned forward, laying his lips on hers with the lightest caress, she gave herself entirely to the change and let it sweep her away.

She did not expect being kissed by Thorin Oakenshield would be anything like this. She imagined it would be demanding, assertive, claiming what he wanted because that was how _he_ was. But no, it was so chaste, so gentle. It was a tentative step in one direction that led to somewhere uncertain. But then again, had he not nearly mastered self-restraint? Why he held back, she did not know. But suddenly, this foreign, pleasurable sensation spreading through her body made allowing prudence extremely difficult. She _wanted_ that bossy dwarf. So she melted against him, blunt nails scratching through the hair on his chest and cheeks burning from his abrasive (yet satisfying) beard. She never knew such a thing could be so thrilling. She kissed him hungrily, never one to let a long-awaited opportunity pass her by without making the most of it.

And he responded in kind. From where his hands lay warily on her waist, he moved them down to the skin of her legs again. They slid up the backs of her thighs, pushing the end of his tunic up, moving just high enough to make her gasp. She had not realized before now her exact state of undress. Both of them. A spike of heat snapped in her belly. Each kiss blended into another until she was completely lost in his lips, and she ignored her need for air.

He did not. He pulled away with a rough exhale, then laughed, face the picture of bliss. “Mahal, there you go again! You cannot go a moment without having the reins, can you?”

“Since when have you listened to _caution_?” She gripped his shoulders, suddenly dizzy. She just kissed Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain. And she sat, half-undressed, in his lap. _Maybe I need to take a lesson in caution._

“I have already made a speech about your fire, _khajimele_ , but I can do another one, if you need me to.”

She giggled, pressing her forehead to his. She felt higher than the moon. “You never said anything.”

“First, I was skeptical about _your_ interests. Then I doubted mine.”

She pulled back. “What does that mean?”

He licked his lips, and she was drawn to their distinct red color that was not their usual state (she would know; she studied them at every chance). “What I told you in Ereven, the night of the feast. Ever since my return to Erebor has resurrected ghosts I thought were long dead, I have had no trust in my desires. Then I suddenly find myself deeply infatuated with the young hobbit girl who saved my nephew’s life—well, I hardly knew what to do with myself. I admit it…startled me, how strongly you attracted me, even then. I was convinced it was the sickness, somehow.”

She blinked. “It started that long ago?”

“Not entirely. I can’t say when it was. But, standing before the gates of Erebor, watching you huff and puff about all the inconvenience, I certainly thought you a pretty face.”

She chewed into her lip, trying to find the moment for her. It all started that night in the Misty Mountains, warmed from the frost in her body within his arms. But was that when she actually…fell? It was really of no consequence to her. All she knew was that it had happened for her, and apparently for him, and if a mighty king of a great kingdom decided to give his attentions to a fur-trading, vagabond hobbit, who was she to smother it all with unanswerable questions?

“Speak your thoughts, darling,” he said with a quirk to his lips. “I’m afraid I have very little confidence in the matters of the heart, and I feel I could be approaching a hard let-down.”

Well, that would not do, would it? So she kissed him again, slipping her arms around his neck and beneath the warm curtain of his dark hair. The tingles returned abruptly, and she sighed in gratification. With a moan, he took it to a higher intensity that left her breathless. The thought was difficult, but she needed to end it there before… It would be incredibly easy to take the next step, as they were. She leaned back, giddy and so very content. “How about that?”

Eyes sparkling brightly and cheeks glowing red, he gave her a most handsome smile. “I think that will do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> khajimele: my greatest gift (<3)
> 
> So I hope that suffices for the week of no updates coming up. Slow burn has officially ended.   
> I might get the chance to write a little while I'm on vacation, so hopefully, the next chapter will be up around the 28th or the day after. Now I should probably go pack.
> 
> Let me know what you think of the moment we've all be waiting for! XD


	21. Overton

_Everything_ hurt.

Her entire body all the way down to her little toes sang cacophonously of walking, then a battle, a river, and a waterfall. The guessing game came with deciding which one caused the most damage.

As gingerly as she could, Cori shifted her legs, feeling no impairment in any joints. Just an acute pang in her thighs where the muscles begged for no movement for a week or two. The itch to stretch crawled up her stiff spine, and she arched her back to relieve it, but gasped aloud. A hundred sharp knives dug into her bones and muscles, seizing the air from her lungs. Her arms felt heavy and awkward with the slightest attempt to raise them, so she just kept them in front of her nose where they had rested all night. Her skin was tender to the touch, and each little bump and disfigurement in the ground beneath her bedroll prodded and agitated what was most likely a smattering of bruises all over her. As if lying on the ground did not already cause her to stiffen like a tree branch. Not only that, but hunger gnawed at her stomach and the organ protested its neglect loudly. Oh, but what luck! Her headache no longer rattled her skull. How delightful.

She opened her eyes, searching for the sky. A dim blue light began in the east and stretched across in a gradual transition to a darker shade. The forest had awoken, the joyful chattering of songbirds within the trees most likely what had pulled her from sleep. Tiny budding leaves sprouted from the higher branches; spring was here. Still, she expected a chill to hang in the air. The pile of charred wood and ashes in front of her smoldered, but gave off no heat. Yet, it felt as if she were sleeping next to a furnace.

A pressure she had not noticed across her stomach moved, shifting the warmth. It curled around her, sourced at her back where comfort and security seeped into her skin through the tunic she wore. A breath of air sighed into her hair and fanned across her neck, and she smiled. What an exhausting end to an exhausting day it had been. No small wonder they both drifted off within minutes of bickering about who would be posted for first watch. It had not mattered in the end. Nothing disturbed them. She did not remember when they both ended up with his fire-warmed, dry cloak over them, but he had been poking at the fire when she laid down to sleep, so his position now was an exceedingly welcome surprise. She did not want to ruin this moment.

As gingerly as she could, she turned her head to follow the arm behind her. Thorin was entirely out, soft snores barely disturbing the peace of their woodsy clearing. All lines that seemed to be etched permanently into his skin were smoothed out, and his dark lashes rested against his cheeks. He did not look like a tormented king of a lost and besieged people. Only a dwarf at peace, even in sleep. There was no harm in letting him get a little more of it, so Cori opted to wake up slowly and settled back down.

Left with free reign, her mind shifted to more unpleasant things than the words and the kisses they exchanged beneath the night sky. Her focus wandered to the bandits. They had not discussed it further, but she had no doubt they all knew who the Men belonged to. And the Men knew who Thorin was. Ryone wanted him, which did not shock her at all. He could do many things with the king of the dwarves; Thorin held the Arkenstone, and subsequently the command of all dwarf clans. Ryone could easily accomplish whatever he wanted by controlling Thorin, and while dwarven pride would see his endeavors to be as difficult to carry out as possible, the king’s love for his people and his need to protect them would make such a feat feasible. Ryone had to know that, and he anticipated an enemy that was unable to predict his next moves. He did not, however, suspect that Cori was among his opponents.

But his secrets were secure. If Cori gave away anything that would help the dwarves anticipate his next move, all suspicions would be raised against her. Thorin would want to know how she could guess Ryone’s qualities when Gandalf knew next to nothing about him. That would open up a dam of questions she was not ready to answer just yet. That she would never be ready to answer. If she did, that would be the end. All she had built with these dwarves would be tossed aside and stomped on, and so would she. Withholding the truth seemed so much more appealing than lying straight to his face, especially after last night. No, they just gained crucial information that could see this whole charade finished in the blink of an eye. They had figured out where his hideout was without her; so far, she had not been needed. Until things grew dire to the point of desperation, she would let the course of things come naturally. For her own sake.

Sunlight touched the very tops of the trees, creating a light green glow in the forest around them. She did not want to, but it was time to leave this place. They would need to start out soon and find food. Shifting onto her back as best as she could, she reached up from beneath the heavenly covers to return a piece of silver hair that rested on is nose to its place behind his ear. She made sure her knuckle drifted across his cheekbone and up to his temple. “Thorin?”

He seemed content to ignore her touch and remain in the cozy confines of sleep. Eventually, however, he took in a deep breath, nose scrunching where her finger brushed over the tip repeatedly. His eyes responded to her quiet call, laying on her with unfocused laziness. “ _Bakn galikh, khajimele. Zuyothur ganin. Biraikhjime darami gamekh afthakul."_

She blinked. “Did you forget your own language is supposed to be a secret?”

“Hasn’t stopped anyone from giving you a few tips, has it?” He rolled over as well, blinking blearily at the trees above. Their blanket followed him, but fell away from his shoulder, bringing into view the dark ink and hair across the wide expanse of his chest. Cori chewed her lips, trying with all her might not to imagine what could have transpired the night before. She would surely melt like candle wax from the heat in her cheeks. “I have never rested on the ground quite as well as I just have,” he groaned, stretching.

She giggled, sitting upright to loosen her hair and let the crown fall down her back. The waves were smooth and full, and a content sigh rushed from her nose as she ran her fingers through it.

“ _Saskhabiya abnamul._ ”

She glanced around her shoulder, finding him watching her from his casual recline with a certain gleam in his eye. “Why does everything in your language sound like an insult?”

He chuckled, rising to sit beside her and tucking a lock behind her ear. At the inquisitive tilt of her head, he explained, “The irony is amusing.” Giving her a sickeningly sweet kiss on the cheek, he swung the cloak off them completely and rose up to his full height. “Come, _ghivashel._ I would like to know if my nephews are still in one piece.”

She smiled absently. Oh, yes. His general mood had taken a pleasant turn indeed. “And how are you to go about doing that?”

He began to dress, briefly casting a teasing eye toward her. “Not by sitting here all day, as much as the thought entices me.”

After they gathered together all their clothes strewn about the camp and repacked their bags, they smothered what remained of the fire and set out upriver again. Once they reached the cliff that created the waterfall, they turned west to find a more gradual ascension back to the top.

“We ended up on the same side of the river,” Thorin said as he surveyed the rocky slope. “Finding them shouldn’t be a problem.”

“What if they left that spot? Wouldn’t they have come looking for us?” It escaped her why on earth they would continue on without making an effort to at least find Thorin.

“It’s as if you think we haven’t prepared for something like this.”

“Well, you did run out of your mountain about two days after deciding to.”

He bumped her with his shoulder. “They wouldn’t stray from the river. They know I wouldn’t. My instructions if I were to ever become separated from them, especially if I am in the smaller group, were to wait until noon after the first night of my disappearance in the same spot we lost sight of each other. That would give me enough time to return if I were able. If not, it meant I was injured, and they were to come find me. Very unlikely it’ll take us that long to return to the ford.”

“That’s…very detailed.”

“Dwalin insisted on it. A bit of a problem if _I_ go missing, he said.”

“A little bit, yeah.”

The sun rose higher in a clear sky as they marched along the rock wall separating them from their destination. Anywhere the light touched was warm, but the shade remained cooled and a breeze shifted the air even further. No matter how much she resisted, Thorin ignored her and tightened his cloak around her as a shield against the spring air. She grimaced at how the fur trim at the bottom dragged the ground, but his body heat lingered in it, so she snuggled deeply into the collar.

After walking in the same direction for almost half an hour, they climbed a small hill. At the top, a well-worn road stood in their way. Cori sighed in relief, but her companion did not seem to share the same attitude. He stared at the path with his brow knitted together. “What?”

“I do not know this road,” he said quietly, looking both ways. “Nor any reason it would be traveled so.”

They turned north, hoping for a quick journey to a fork that would lead them back to the river. A short walk later, they received, yet not to anywhere they expected. The road turned and continued northeast. However, it branched off only a short distance to a wooden gate. Before it, a sign stood, rotten and weather-beaten: Overton, it read. Much to their surprise, the gate was wide open, and the occasional figure passed by it. Men.

“I never understood why human traders passed through this area so frequently,” Thorin said. “Dwarves do not mingle with them very often unless in dire straits. Now I see.”

“This place isn’t familiar,” Cori replied, staring at the massive wall as it vanished into the forest on either side of the road. “I’ve never even heard of Overton.”

“Neither have I.” Yet he glared at it as if it had done him some personal affront. “Come on. We have no time to waste.”

Within several minutes, they found the ford. They turned to walk further upstream to the spot where they had run into the bandits. It did not take them long to find it. Completely deserted.

“So much for following his own rules,” Thorin grumbled as he surveyed the ground. Many boot prints, those of dwarf size and Man size, were scattered in the dirt, but that was not the only evidence of the fight. Cori swallowed thickly as she stared at a large spot of darker-colored dirt. It was where their guards had lain after they were struck down. A few other splotches of blood-soaked earth marred the ground around them. Beneath the trees further from the riverbank, a charred pile of ash smoked still. The scent of burnt flesh lingered in the air. Thorin scowled at it. “I suppose they can’t be blamed for wanting to be away from here.”

“I don’t blame them,” Cori murmured softly as she looked over the edge of the bank that she had rolled off. A shiver trailed up her spine when she saw the arrows imbedded in the dirt next to her body’s imprint, leading all the way into the rushing water. She turned away, searching out the blue eyes that would comfort her. “I want to be away as well.”

He nodded, taking a protective step toward her. “There is nothing left for us here. They could be anywhere. Very little of our food survived the river. We will need supplies if we are to be separated from them for too much longer, and even if we did find them. Let’s go.”

They returned to Overton.

The gate was still wide open and entirely unguarded. While avoiding having to explain themselves to anybody waiting there seemed like a boon, their easy passage inside only unnerved the dwarf more. But they needed food. “There’s the market,” she pointed out after only a moment within the small town. Her stomach clenched painfully as the delicious aroma of baked goods floated their way, raising her hunger to ravenous. It was placated only slightly when Thorin stuck a piece of dried meat into her hand from the small pouch holding their remaining provisions. As she chewed from the small chunk, he slipped an arm around her waist.

“Stay close to me,” he murmured into her ear.

She had no intention of wandering off, but she got the message. He had a bad feeling about this place, and there was no denying the power of a dwarf’s intuition.

The pair walked down the street as unassumingly as possible, led by a steady stream of people moving in one direction: the center of town. This place, whatever it was, was not poor, nor was it wealthy. Up front, it looked like any typical town of Men with a mixture of sturdy stone houses and smaller shacks that looked as if the slightest breeze could topple them over. However, astonishingly, they stood with obvious age attached to them. They had been here for some time, and the people seemed to have done well for themselves. How, then, had a dwarf who lived in the Blue Mountains for several decades never heard of this place?

While they teetered on the edge of prosperity, they did not lack in population. Amongst those townsfolk going about their daily business, most wore bleak expressions of despondence. At the sight of the smaller figures, however, they became galled. The dwarf drew a good portion of that antagonistic attention, though the hobbit was hardly spared from it solely because of who she walked with. “Are you sure you’ve never dealt with these people before?”

“I would have remembered a human village on the Lune. We would have been their main source of trade if a town this size hoped to survive, and I never did business with any Overton. This is…odd.”

“They don’t look very happy to see you.”

“Men have always been petulant about dwarves.”

She cringed beneath a particularly nasty look. An ugly mien to complement an already ugly face. “Petty annoyance? Not this lot.”

As any common gathering place would do, the number of people at the market increased. In turn, the irate glares were everywhere. The first stall they came to offered breads and biscuits aplenty, but the seller’s expressions acted a wall between them and food. Only when Thorin plopped a hefty bag of coins onto the counter did the wall crumble and their sacks fill. As they took a few bites before tying their new stores to their person, Cori watched his demeanor. The relaxed, incredibly friendly partner she woke up next to was gone, and in his place was the old suspicious dwarf king with a stone exterior against anything uncomfortable. And right now, that mask was hiding anxiety he would never show anyone.

“Come,” he said quietly in that guard fashion, taking her hand and guiding her back the way they came. They had barely scratched the surface of what they needed, but a minute longer in that square and Cori would burst into flames from all the heat. The glares followed silently until they left the market.

Something swept into their path just as they escaped the throngs of people, and the two jerked to a halt at the same time. A trio of men with bulging muscles and seething faces covered in dirt stood before them. Their hands rested on long, thin blades that glimmered in the early morning sun.

“The lord o’ this town’s got business wit’ ya, runt,” said the farthest on the right with an entirely shaved head, addressing Thorin with a slithery grin.

Cori felt her blood turn to ice. _No. This couldn’t be…_ Had they just walked into a trap?

“I have never met your lord,” Thorin replied, tightening his grip around her waist.

“Don’t need to be acquaintances,” the one in the middle interjected. “Just need to be one o’ them stunted ones. You’ll do just fine.”

With bared teeth, Thorin ripped Orcrist from its sheath and brandished it high. The resulting collective gasp from the crowd was ignored.

The nearly bald fellow held his hands up, but his fingers still gripped his sword with anticipation. His companions refused to back down either. “A talk’s all we wan’, Master Dwarf. No reason to be so hasty.”

“I will be ‘hasty’ until you give me a straight answer,” Thorin growled, balancing his blade between both hands.

“If that’s the way it’s going to be,” the last one said, setting his sights on the hobbit girl reaching for her own sword.

“Go!” Thorin shouted, pushing her down an ally just as their confronters lunged forward. Quick on her feet as her kind naturally was, Cori charged down the passage to another street, yanking her sword from her quiver. Opting to lead the way, she made a split-second decision to turn left, hoping that by moving in the general direction of their entrance into town, they could disappear into the forest surrounding it. But first, a few well-placed twists and turns would not hurt to throw them off the scent. “Follow me!” she turned to call back, realizing with a start how close he was as Orcrist flashed in front of her face.

“Lead on!”

Crammed up against a large mountain, the streets of this town were as slight and constricting as Dale’s. Too much had been built into this tiny settlement, but at the moment, the structuring gave the advantage to the two fleeing travelers evading unjust capture. Multiple passages, however, meant a myriad of dangerous openings one could be seen flying past. It did not take long for them to realize their pursuers had multiplied and were trying to corner them via different streets and alleys. Cori squeaked when an arrow lodged itself in the wall next to her head after nearly trimming off the point of her nose. They were swiftly losing the upper hand.

Rushing across a wider road had them almost skewered several times. But in their panic to dodge the volley, they unknowingly entered a passage that had no exit. After a particularly sharp turn, they met a wall higher than either could jump or boost the other over. Out of answers, Cori looked to the dwarf in desperation. His mind turned over and over as he searched the walls for something, _anything_ , his jaw grinding. His face lit up when he saw it. “Here!” He roughly took her by the arm and shoved her into a crack in the wall just big enough for her sidle into. At the end was a staircase leading up to the top of a stone building trapping them on the right. Cori stared dumbfounded at it, wondering what kind of jigsaw puzzle this town was. When she looked back to the entrance, however, her heart sank.

“You can’t get through.”

Even if Thorin shed his cloak and jacket, his thick frame would be much too large to fit into the hole. She could barely squeeze through as it was. If his predicament bothered him at all, it did not show. “I will be fine. Get out of town and find Dwalin. I will be right behind you.”

“No, I’m not leaving you!” She tried to maneuver her way back to the opening, but he blocked it, glaring her down with blazing eyes.

“You will, Cori! I command it! Do as I say!” His head jerked toward the entrance as a shout echoed down the corridor, a snarl twisting his face. Suppressing a helpless whimper, Cori squeezed the other way down the tiny passage as fast as she could. As her leader, he may have given her an order, but that did not mean she had to act on it immediately. No, she would not flee while he stood and fought. She ran up the staircase just as the clash of steel rang from the other end. The sloped and tiled roof was slick and difficult to navigate, but she slid her way to the edge nonetheless and peered down. As the alley barely allowed for two Men abreast, Thorin was easily cutting through those at the front. As the bodies piled up, however, the others stood atop them and slammed down on him from a high angle. He backed up slowly until he was pressed up against the wall by the onslaught. Cori instinctively moved to grab from her quiver. She found air.

All her arrows were lost in the river.

She had a bow and a sword, but both were useless here. Frantically, she searched around her feet for anything that might serve. A crumbled pile of bricks sat at the edge near the staircase, waiting to be put into the skilled hands of a hobbit. She grinned wickedly, gathering up as many as she could. Upon returning to the small passage, she rained down the force of the Valar in the form of hard and heavy stone. The bricks cracked off the exposed heads of the Men, sending them to the ground and causing their companions to stumble. As expected and anticipated, when men fell beneath the shower of perfectly-aimed bricks, those remaining looked to the sky and returned fire with flint and feathers. “Plant those ugly mugs right on me, you sweaty scoundrels!” With no cover, the men were at the mercy of her bricks while their arrows did nothing but disappear into the blue sky. _I might get him out_ , she thought. Thorin had finally pushed away from the wall and stood on top of the pile. He was unmatched by these amateurs and their dinky little knives.

With a hard _thunk_ and a twang, an arrow stuck into the roof right next to her foot. She squealed and jumped away, nearly sliding down the tiles and over the edge. Definitely not from below. She looked up to see three archers moving swiftly across the other rooftops, aiming directly at her as they went. One brick blocked an arrow seeking her face, and she cackled in victorious astonishment. But she was running out of ammunition. She looked down below and almost cried. Thorin struck out viciously, but his newest opponents were dressed in armor with helmets. They carried long blades of shiny steel that they wielded with surety and dexterity. These were no longer enraged townsfolk, but soldiers who were bent on taking him out. He would be overwhelmed soon.

There was nothing she could do.

Ignoring the ache in her chest, Cori ducked back behind the roof and ran to the other side where the wide street was. A tarp stretched over the doorway of someone’s home and would most definitely take a hobbit’s weight. She jumped onto it and slid to the ground, sprinting down the street toward the road leading out of town, only one thing on her mind: find Dwalin.

Her legs pumped faster than they ever had before, burning with her lungs. When she glanced over her shoulder, she found a mass of soldiers turning a corner from a side street and barreling after her at an alarming rate. Black cloths covered their mouths, leaving a slit for their eyes where they glared menacingly at her as they called for her to stop. She was tempted to scream back at them that she would only stop for an arrow in the back, but that sounded an awful lot like an invitation she did not want to make. Thankfully, nobody along the way tried to stop her even when she had a whole pursuit behind her.

She vanished into the woods outside the gate with a barely a rustle of vegetation. Oh, but she did not stop there either. Under the cover of the brush, she ran alongside the road, listening as the voices of the human hounds on her tail faded into the distance. She had to be sure she would not be ambushed the moment she left the trees. Her entire body screamed with exhaustion; there would be little chance of escaping if they grabbed her. Thankfully, about a mile out of town, she heard nothing but the distant roar of the river. She slowed to a stop not far from the ford, her chest heaving as she watched the road. Nothing. Not even the one face she wished to see. With a choked sob, she collapsed to the ground.

They were going to kill him. That was all her mind told her over and over as she stared at the sky and gasped for air. They were going to murder the King Under the Mountain, and what had she done? Run like a coward. There was not one dwarf who would not have disobeyed him and stayed right there to defend him until their last breath. And she claimed to love him?!

Oh, Yavanna, she loved him and she left him to die.

Curses against herself mingled with the tears as she lay on the ground like defeated prey. Curses well-deserved, for it was no surprise that she could add betrayer to her list of adjectives. That was who she was, after all. A cowardly little girl trading honor for life. She had no business being out here, scampering around in all this mischief. They would never have come here had she not fallen into the river. Had she only pushed him away where she had drawn him closer, he would not have felt the need to defend her with his life. None of the dwarves would have. Dammit, she was _not worth dying for_!

“Cori?!”

The familiar cry pushed away the pathetic blubbers she had been reduced to for that moment, and she sat up just as a short figure burst through the bushes from the road. Both her hands were grabbed and yanked until she stood upright, then they were pinned to her body as long blond hair filled her nose. “We searched and searched for hours around that river. We thought you were dead.”

Suddenly, all that painful weight that had settled on her shoulders sprouted wings and took off, leaving her lighter than air. In its place, peace and security unlike anything she had ever felt before. She let a breath of relief free. There was something magical about the sons of Durin, that could not be denied. Their touch alone healed the aches and tears. It was their strong arms that let her know everything would be all right in the end. There was nothing to fear. She clung to him when he tried to back away, but he understood quickly and held on longer. “I’m fine, Fíli.” She snuggled further into his fur coat. “I’m fine.”

“You found her!” Kíli leapt through the branches in an almost violent assault on the leaves, stopping abruptly when he came on the scene. Cori released her captive and reached for him instead, and he held her just as tightly. His bigger frame enveloped her like a blanket, giving her just the same moment of repose. “Oh, this is better than when Bilbo showed up out of nowhere after the goblin caves.”

“Are any of you hurt?” she asked after pulling away, swiping at the moisture on her dirty cheeks. Their faces seemed to be unmarked, and if they could run toward her and squeeze the life out of her, they seemed to be functioning just fine.

Kíli shook his head. “We took out the rest of those bandits. All of them. Dumped the scum in the woods somewhere and set a flame to them. All in one big stinky pile.”

“We buried the dwarves beneath some boulders as best as could,” Dwalin added as he stepped through the bushes. “Kind of silly, but it was better than out in the open.” He settled a large hand with a firm grip on her shoulder, his bushy mustache raised slightly with his smile. Cori clasped his hand back. All her fears from the night before were put to rest; everyone was all right.

“We followed the current for a time before the sun rose,” Kíli continued. Fíli was certain he saw a wet spot on the opposite shore that indicated you had escaped and ran. We looked for you for hours. What happened?”

“Waterfall,” she puffed, her stomach rolling when she remembered that little tidbit.

“Wait.” Fíli studied her face with dread. “You actually went down that? That didn’t even occur to me. I thought surely Thorin would’ve pulled you both out before then.” He looked her over from head to toe all over again, as if he would see something new but obvious appear.

“We were a bit banged up and half frozen by nightfall, so we decided to stay put. Otherwise, we would’ve tried to regroup. We returned to the scene of the battle this morning, but nobody was there, so we headed to this town just a little ways up the road, Overton…”

“Overton?” Dwalin repeated, brow furrowing. “Never heard of it.”

“Well, it’s certainly not imaginary. Or…or friendly.”

The brothers exchanged a panicked look.

“Lass?” Dwalin encouraged, fists nervously clenching.

She blinked stubbornly, trying not to let her breath run away from her again. “We went to the market to get provisions, but the townsfolk attacked us and chased us all throughout the village. Thorin…Thorin was cornered with no way out and I was of no use from long range. I left to find you, but that was a while ago, I think. I don’t know what’s happened to him. We need to get back there.”

Dwalin’s nostrils quivered in a sneer. “Then I say we walk right in there and start asking questions.”

Oh, how much she wanted to do just that, especially in the manner he was alluding to. “Bad idea. He hacked into them, but they still persisted. You walk in there like you own the place, and we’re never going to get him out.” She swallowed. “Assuming he’s still in one piece.”

“We’re going to assume that.” Fíli ground his teeth several times.

“Then what do we do?” Kíli brushed a hand through his shaggy hair, a nervous habit he frequently performed.

“I haven’t gotten that far.” She scratched at her temple, frustration starting to stoke her temper. Battle plans? Stealth missions? This was all new to her. “But whatever we do, we really need to be cautious. I don’t think that’s any ordinary human town back there.”

All three of them glanced at her in confusion.

“I think this town’s run by Ryone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> 1\. Bakn galikh, khajimele. Zuyothur ganin. Biraikhjime darami gamekh afthakul: Good morning, my gift. It’s still early. Give me five more minutes.  
> 2\. Saskhabiya abnamul: You look beautiful  
> 5\. ghivashel: greatest treasure
> 
> I'M BACK! With some action, too (and a cliffhanger not sorry ;D).  
> Thank you all for the well wishes for my vacation. I had a great time, and it was nice to get away and relax for a bit. But I'm ready to get back into writing and finish this thing. We finally got to see Cori and Thorin pull their heads out of the sand, but we've still got a long way to go and lots to cover.  
> Keep up with the feedback. It's been such a treat hearing from you guys! <3


	22. Lucky Hobbit Feet

"They came out of the woodwork,” Cori explained to the dwarves after their jog back toward Overton. Crouching low in thick bushes just outside the gates, they halted to create a plan. “One moment, we had a mob of angry townsfolk shooting arrows and clambering after us like we were deer in the sights of starving wolves. The next, a whole troop of soldiers dressed in heavy armor and carrying fine swords blocked off our escape and laid into us. There were so many all at once; we had no chance.”

“There’s always a chance when a dwarf draws breath,” Dwalin replied. He had yet to cease firing flaming daggers from his eyes toward the guards posted at the gateway. “But I trust your judgment, lass, and what you’re sayin’ is leavin’ me a tad troubled.”

“Maybe they were similarly trained to the Men at the river,” Fíli suggested, keeping an optimistic air about him despite the worry hidden deep in his blue eyes.

“I couldn’t tell. They had to fight in close quarters: a tiny alleyway with barely enough room for all of them. They couldn’t really do much aside from stand there and poke their swords out a bit, and neither could Thorin.”

“He was winning, though, wasn’t he?” Judging by Kíli’s expression, he already decided what the answer was.

“They were still falling when I left. But he was cornered, and they wouldn’t stop coming.”

“We could definitely use Bilbo right now,” Kíli murmured. The closer they had come to the town from the river, the less emphatic their initial mobilization became. They were a team of only four, after all, on a mission to rescue a kidnapped king. “He hardly had any trouble getting into places he wasn’t supposed to be.”

“But we have something just as good.” Fíli looped an arm around Cori’s shoulders. “All we need’s a good pair of hobbit feet, and there’s nowhere we can’t get to.”

Cori narrowed her eyes, suddenly worried. “I think anywhere Thorin would be kept is going to be a little more occupied than a musty treasure hall.” She refused to mention the fact that this would not be the first time she did something like this. “And they saw me. They would expect me to come back.”

“Come now, lass,” Dwalin coaxed. “I’d give Smaug the benefit of the doubt before I called that these buffoons could actually get in your way.”

“You’ll just have to be cleverer.” Fíli, a boyish grin of confidence on his face, squeezed her tightly to his side. “You got out of there before, didn’t you? You can do it again. I believe in you.”

 _At least one of us does._ “More of a hindrance, these’ll be, then,” she grunted as she yanked her boots off and handed them to Fíli.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Dwalin warned her, forehead creased in unease. “We’d like to end this mishap with both of ya intact. Taking on a group of Men that could overwhelm Thorin definitely doesn’t sound like a bunch _you_ want to mess with.”

She gave him a blank stare. “You’re kidding, right? You actually think I would do that? Trust me, they directed all their skill to their muscles and left nothing for the brain. This shouldn’t be too difficult.” The bravado was a false front, of course. Her heart pounded fiercely.

“You sure you’re not chasing after something that’s not there?” he asked with a frown. “You said you don’t know what happened after you left.”

She shook her head. “No, Dwalin, I don’t know if he’s alive, or if he escaped.” The admittance equally stuck a knife through her heart and put delusive hope in her at the same time. However, she had to warn them before she came back the despondent messenger. “But I’d rather go in there and make absolutely certain than gamble on his life. They said they wanted to talk to him, which means they may have just wanted to take him prisoner.” But odds had been relatively in their favor so far. Would their luck run out soon?

The dwarves crouched down in the bushes, sending wishes of good fortune with her as she moved through the brush. At the edge of the forest, she stopped and took a breath because she honestly had no idea how she was going to pull this off. All of a sudden, she understood now that timid look in Bilbo’s eye when she met him in Rivendell just before Thorin’s company crossed the Misty Mountains to face a dragon roosting in their home. Hobbits against forces entirely meaner than anything they had ever been conditioned for in their small, modest lives. But, like Bilbo, maybe she had a chance. Slipping by the guards without their noticing her would be a feat most unimaginable, though. Were their sight to be taken away, possibly, but she would need magic to cloak her from their view. Waiting until dark was not an option. She had to think fast.

“Hey! Bring those tiny needles over this way!” echoed Dwalin’s fierce roar, and Cori glanced toward the road just in time to see the three of them burst out from behind a tree and stop to have a little prance right in front of the guards. The guards readied their weapons, but looked to each other in confusion. The performers’ efforts were rewarded when the Men dashed after them from their posts and gave chase, even so far as bounding into the woods. All the while, Cori stared at their backs as they disappeared from view, blinking furiously because there was no way she actually would have expected that to work. It seemed her throw-away comment from earlier was actually more accurate than she first thought.

Now nobody stood at the gate. Perfect, except it was closed.

“Bugger me sideways,” she murmured beneath her breath as she studied the top of the wall for any way over it. But, maybe the solution could not be found up high. Hobbits knew a thing or two about digging.

Checking once more around the gate, she ran for the wall and pressed herself against it. The posts that made up the fence had been buried deep and sturdily into the ground. However, several had gaps in between them. Most only opened up into a paper-thin slit. However, several feet away from the gate, she found a hole just big enough for a hobbit to duck through; neither Man nor a dwarf could slip inside, which would explain why nobody had ever attempted to fix it. Their laziness would be her boon today.

Slowly, she stuck her head through the gap. Inside was a street with residences lined up in a row up and down it, but it was not trafficked. She may never get a chance like this again. She dashed toward one of the closest houses across the street, ducking beneath a couple of stone stairs. Just then, a troop of soldiers trotted by. She pressed as far back under the staircase as she could, hoping they were as vigilant as their companions at the gate were not. When they approached the gate, they opened it just enough to slip through and disappeared outside.

When she and Thorin first arrived here, there had been no soldiers in sight. If they were on the move, the town was undoubtedly alert to the companion of the captured dwarf being at large. And they were quite the force for a little hobbit to reckon with. Just as Dwalin said, but he was also correct that they were not worth her time anyway. She needed to find Thorin; his fate may depend on how quickly they acted. And if she failed, an entire kingdom was doomed to lose its monarch. And she would lose the only man to hold her heart. No pressure.

Her best option was to remain on the edge of town, avoiding busy streets like the one leading to the market. The townsfolk would most certainly not be on her side. Taking a deep breath, she sprinted toward the back of the next building as swiftly as she could. Of course, as soon as she turned the corner, she had to stop and smother a loud laugh. The back of the next house was pressed into the hillside, the dirt tumbling onto what was visible of the ceiling. She wondered why the architects of this town decided this spot was worth developing even when they had little hope of fitting everything in. Their assistance was appreciated now, though. She jumped on top of the house, hopeful that a route across rooftops would be more successful than sauntering down the street. If any guards occupied them, they would be few, all focused on finding _her_ elsewhere.

So over flat and sloped roofs she bounded, slipping and sliding on her large feet made for treading soft grass instead. And then she stopped.

“Fantastic.”

Where exactly was she meant to be going?

Her last tour of this place had been at high speed, and mental map-making had been the least of her worries so long as she remembered where the gate out was. With a heavy sigh, she ducked behind a chimney and stared across the town. A courthouse of some kind would be the first place she might find a prisoner. Or the lord’s house. The biggest, most elaborate building was what she needed.

Through a smoky haze toward the west, at the end of the row of houses and shops she graced, a stone mansion rose high above the gable roofs surrounding it. It looked stately and official compared to everything else. If ever she required a place to begin her search, that one seemed to prove most fruitful.

Arduous and altogether hazardous to her health, the trek over the houses gave her a new appreciation for the dirt she loved even when she did not think she could love it even more. Heights were not for earthy folk. But she made it through town with few hiccups. As expected, several guards held post on the entire exterior of the mansion. A simple entrance through the back door was unattainable, but she had not been holding her breath for more breaks. Her next option: through the window on the second story sitting on a vacant balcony.

Staring across the gap between the roof she stood on and the one she needed to get to, she took a moment to contemplate whether or not this dwarf was actually worth all this. All the heartache and grief he had led her to, and all the anxiety he had caused in her, and she was about to truly put her life on the line for him. Could there possibly be any benefit if she did this?

He would say no, so she was inclined to do the opposite of what he said.

She backed up several feet and, with a deep breath and a prayer for the hair on her feet to gain a new function of flying, charged with all the might of a troop of Rohirrim. She sailed through the air for several seconds only to endure a rocky landing onto one of the balconies of the house. She rolled across the stone floor until she crashed into the wall with a dramatic deflating of her lungs. “Ugh. Mercy, Giver.” Before her noisy fall could draw attention from down below, she slipped into the open window above her head.

One look up and down the hallway told her that her choice was precise. A green and black rug ran the whole length of the floor and priceless tapestries hung from the high ceiling. Artifacts of all types lined the walls on pedestals and tables, a great collection of wealth. She stared at the knickknacks and wondered, if this town truly bended beneath Ryone’s will, what could he possibly want with such things? The instigator of mass genocide also a collector of immeasurable treasure, just like those he hoped to exterminate?

But her contemplation did not last long. Voices echoed around the corner to her left. She ducked behind a tall chair, wrapping her arms tightly around her to conceal the white shirt beneath her fur. Two pairs of boots appeared, moving swiftly down the corridor.

“No, no. Lord’s none too happy about it. Haven’t seen dwarves try to pass through here in months.”

“Maybe they’re finally getting the message. Those up in the higher hills are still holding on. To what, I haven’t a clue; our intentions have been clear, and demonstrated, but I suppose their thick skulls can take a beating before anything gets through. I, for one, was glad to see some progress.”

“And things were all the more quieter when they stopped showing up. I suppose something’s actually being done about them, and it’s about time. That flub all those years ago must’ve set him back real good.”

“Beggars and thieves, the lot of them. Maybe once they’re gone, the mountains’ll actually be up for grabs. Haven’t heard anything of the sort, but you can hope. So long as they’re not giving us a lick of trouble anymore.”

“This one did enough damage already. Made a mess near West Street. Wasn’t alone either. He had a small partner with him, though the men swear it wasn’t a dwarf. That one slipped away, disappeared into thin air, they said. Like magic. Poppycock.”

Cori grinned.

“No matter. We caught one, and the rest’ll follow quickly at this rate. They’ve got some nerve, stickin’ around as they do. Oh, well. The lord’s summoned him to the public hall. Let people know what exactly it is we’re going up against here. He seemed keen on the sword the dwarf had with him, too.”

The voices faded into a room, muffled to mere noise when a door closed behind them. Cori heard enough, though. And quite a bit to make her blood boil. Listening quietly for further interruptions, she reemerged from her hiding spot and sprinted in the direction the Men had come. No obstacles met her as she padded softly down the passage to a staircase leading down.

 _Odd_ , she thought. The town was nearly in a panic outside. Yet the house, whom she expected belonged to the lord, seemed deserted. Where was everybody?

Oh.

Suddenly realizing how exposed she was at the bottom of the stairs, she ducked through a large entranceway opening up into an even bigger room filled with people crammed against the walls. She hid behind a wood pillar, out of sight of all that stood in a large circle. With a breath of relief and a particularly stalwart decision not to think about how she was going to get _out,_ she observed the goings-on in the middle of the room through the legs of the guards keeping the crowd back. They all watched a tall, yellow-haired man standing behind a wide, dark desk stacked with paper, parchment and candle stubs. The one person she expected but desperately hoped would not be in there was absent; maybe she had been wrong about Ryone’s involvement here. As Thorin pointed out when they first arrived to scowls and sneers, there certainly was not a shortage of people who just did not like dwarves. However, something familiar sat amongst the letters and books on the desk: a curved blade with a wooden grip on its hilt. Orcrist.

And standing before the man, flanked by two soldiers keeping a firm grip on the chains attached to his wrists, was Thorin. He was stripped of his royal cloak and coat, standing in just a tunic, trousers, and boots, yet, without glancing at the shackles, no one would have ever guessed he was there against his will. He retained all the dignity of a king when facing his captor, and it made her smile with pride. She could not see his face, but his expression was easy to guess, if she knew him enough. If she could move closer, she would try.

The man began to speak in a deep voice thick with an accent one may find in Bree. “It’s uncommon to find an elvish blade in the hands of a dwarf. We happen to have good relations with the elves. Do you think they’d care to have their weapon back?”

Thorin huffed softly. “You know, I already tried that. They did not seem to want it.”

“They may not have, if they were being killed with it. The outstanding rivalry between elves and dwarves is not news to us. Your case is looking bleak.” He grasped the sword and walked around the desk. “However, you are not some lowly miscreant, are you? The clothes you arrived in attest to that plainly. On them was one specific sigil. You are a long way from home, Thorin Oakenshield, King of the Lonely Mountain.”

The crowd standing on the outer ring of the room gasped, quietly murmuring amongst each other. Thorin turned his head, and briefly, she caught a glimpse of his profile. His eye was purple, and a small cut split the skin over his cheekbone, but still he considered the crowd with a smirk in his beard. “And I would happily be on my way to returning home by now, if I had not been attacked in the streets after purchasing provisions from _your_ market. You would never have known I was here.”

The man tsked, pacing in front of the dwarf with his hands clasped behind his back. “Not true. See, we haven’t had a dwarf come through this way for quite some time. Nothing but traders of our own people. So you are a little conspicuous. You and your halfling companion. Where is she, by the way?”

Cori swallowed thickly. The room had become a trifle hot.

“A long way from here.”

He merely shrugged. “Of no consequence. I have no quarrel with the peaceful folk of the Shire.”

“But with me, a stranger from half a world away.”

The man stopped in his tracks, turning to stare down at his captive with a sneer. “It is your race who is responsible for disrupting my town. Ever since those Men came up from the South and started sweeping the mountains of your kind, they’ve been flooding into Overton like locusts. At first, it was a boon. More travelers meant more prosperity for the inns and ware-sellers in the marketplace. That changed very quickly when they began settling here as a place of refuge. Hiding out in our city, taking the jobs of our common folk, all the while causing a ruckus at the taverns and in the streets when they’d had a bit too much to drink. A nuisance was all they’d become, and after that, dwarves were no longer welcome within our gates.”

Thorin chuckled, causing the people to chatter with each other, unsettled. “That’s quite the story. Tear-jerking. I suppose sympathy is its main purpose, but that is its only function, for I doubt there is any truth behind it.”

The man sniffed. “Makes no difference to you what our story is. You are always the villain.”

“You would blame me for the actions of those who were not under my control?”

“They are your people.”

“I do not preside over all the dwarves in Ered Luin. Only a few. The rest belong under others’ rules. Ah, but you would not know the difference, would you? Instead, you’ll accuse me of wrongdoing when _my people_ are being unduly slaughtered by a madman!” Thorin was heaving, temper teetering on the edge of no return. “In your story, you referred to those dwarves as refugees. Whether or not any of that ever happened, you just admitted to the dwarves as victims. Where is your sympathy for the innocents being persecuted? Will you not fight this person terrorizing the west with orcs who have laid waste to Men as well?”

The lord lifted his chin. “We have not felt the attacks of orcs here. So long as that remains the same, there is no need to get involved. Except on one occasion. The man at the Evendim would make great use of you, wouldn’t he? The king of the dwarves he’s so bent on exterminating. Pay a hefty reward, he might.”

The aura surrounding the dwarf changed, and quite obviously not for the better. Those in view of him shifted uncomfortably. “I will remember this.”

The man chuckled. “Oh, I suspect you won’t have long to.” He twirled the sword once before handing it off to a stone-faced guard nearby. “Your journey into the Hills of Evendim begins at first light.” With one flick of his hand, two guards grabbed the dwarf by the arms and dragged him out of the room. Thorin did not struggle, but the deep scowl on his face told all that his restraint thinned. No, his threat was not empty. As the guards led him out of the hall and through the doorway, Cori had to grip her clothes to keep herself from reaching out for him. She wanted desperately to let him know she was there, that he had not been forgotten about, but she could not give herself away now.

Most likely, they would haul him back to the dungeons where he would be guarded like a store of gold. The lord knew she was on the loose, paying no heed to Thorin’s dismissal of her. She could not get him out on her own. But, there was one thing she could do in the meanwhile. After longingly watching him be dragged out of the room, she turned back to the lord at his desk.

“The Hills are patrolled by orcs,” he said to his regally-dressed guard to his left. “And they do not distinguish friend from foe, or so I’m told. You will not go near there. He receives no food or water tonight. Take him far into the wilderness to the southeast, then leave him. Those filthy vermin will find him quickly if dehydration does not first.”

“Yes, milord.” The guard bowed, collecting Orcrist and following the crowd out the door. Biting her tongue against several words aimed at the man that her mother would swat her raw for, Cori slunk out of the room. The guard disappeared beneath the staircase she had descended from the second floor, and she followed. Another passage of steps led below the ground floor, barely lit by waning torches. The hobbit pulled her coat around her body and tiptoed behind him, making sure to keep him in sight while remaining a good distance away to not be heard. At the bottom of the stairs, he immediately turned right. Listening for any voices down the hall, Cori situated herself outside the doorway and leaned in.

“Another one to add to your collection.” He held up the beautiful blade to a grungy, dark-haired fellow, setting it up against the wall next to a long line of other swords that paled in comparison.

“Ah!” The man grinned, observing the blade from his spot in a chair near the back wall. “The dwarves base their weapons entirely on functionality, but elves sure do know how to forge a pretty bit of steel. Will go great with that Midellon over there.”

“Now that the dwarf’s dealt with, I’m in need of a pint. Care to join me?” The guard led the way out of the room, taking his companion with him, and they disappeared around a corner down the hallway. Cori stood without taking a breath until their footsteps disappeared in one last echo, then the air rushed from her chest. Crouched low, she dashed into the room. All along the walls stood weapons of various make and age. The bland style of Men stood out amongst a few of the elf blades. More baffling, however, was the number of dwarvish swords and axes hanging up on the walls and laid out in piles on the floor. For people so loathe of dwarves, they sure kept a good deal of trinkets from them. Even held a bit of appreciation for them. Strange indeed. Without sparing another moment on the contents of the room, she grabbed Orcrist (with slight difficulty in lifting it) and tucked it as best as it would fit into her quiver. It rose high above her head and rattled around with her arrows, but it would have to do.

She scurried out of the room and back up the stairs as fast as she could. Retracing her steps through the house, she returned to the rooftops and dashed toward the town’s exit, meeting no resistance along the way. The air seemed fresher and easier to breathe outside the perimeter of the claustrophobic village. Fíli, Kíli, and Dwalin were exactly where she left them, quietly nibbling on the food from the market. They stood when she approached, not at all alarmed at the familiar sound of bare hobbit feet in the grass. “Any trouble with the guards?” she asked them.

Kíli snorted. “Not for us. Them? I guess that depends on if they can swim or not.”

“Cori?” Fíli asked, wide-eyed and hopeful.

“I found him,” she answered their unspoken question, smiling at their collective exhale. “But we’ll be found here if we stay too much longer. They’re swarming around the town like ants.” With a little bit of shining news to give them hope, they gathered their things and sneaked out of the forest. After a quick jog toward the river, they sheltered in a thicket that was comfortably roomy yet offered cover.

“Alive, I presume,” Dwalin said after they settled down.

She glared. “I see you have a high opinion of me if you truly think me that cruel.” Removing Orcrist from her back, she set it on the ground next to their supplies. “He’s being kept in the lord’s dungeon right now. They’re shipping him off to dump him in the forest south of the Hills of Evendim tomorrow morning.”

“A present for our slaughterer,” Fíli growled.

“If Ryone can find him. These people are scared to go near the Hills. The orcs are keeping them away. No, they’re going to leave him to die.”

Kíli glared in confusion at the ground. “Afraid to go in there? Why would they need to fear the army under the control of the one they’re serving?”

“Remember what Gandalf said,” Fíli answered. “Orcs can’t be controlled, no matter who they’re taking orders from. They do what benefits them, and if that includes aligning themselves with a human, they won’t discriminate. But that hardly means they’ll follow blindly. I suppose that’s where they show some actual sense.”

“Or maybe they aren’t in league with him,” Cori replied, thinking back to the story the lord told. Thorin did not seem to believe it, but that did not mean it was all entirely a lie. “Either that or they don’t trust one another, which I think we should keep in mind.”

“Considering you left him there, I’m guessin’ you have the same plan as I do?” Dwalin smirked, lifting a brow.

It paid to have a professional war strategist on their side, because she had kept that idea under cautious scrutiny. “Better than busting him out of a heavily-populated town flooded with well-trained guards, I think. We intercept the escort and free him then.” She set a flame into their small pile of kindling using one of their matches and blew into it. Their small alcove flooded with firelight. “Personally, I’d love to do a prison raid and cut off the lord at his knees. Let’s just say it was a good thing you weren’t there, or I’d be freeing all of your temperamental arses myself.”

“Ha!” Kíli barked. “Where’s that sweet, innocent hobbit lass we found at our doorstep?” He hardly seemed disturbed by his own observation.

“I’ve been living with you lot for six months. Where do you think she went?”

“Or maybe this one was there the whole time,” Dwalin pointed out, pushing a knuckle into her arm. “Just took the right motivation to bring her out. Must’ve been strong indeed.” His wink was subtle, but Cori did not miss it, nor the chance to reply with a warning scowl. She needed to make sure the dwarf knew, no matter how much she cared about him as a close friend, neither would he be safe from her wrath if he chose his words poorly.

“At least you got something out of that venture.” Fíli lifted Orcrist fondly, thoroughly sweeping it for damage. “He’d be devastated.”

“I know.” It would take pain of death for him to admit it, but he had grown quite partial to the blade. Knowing that it sat in the hands of those who had taken him captive, especially thugs they assumed to be on the same side as his people’s murderer, would leave a particularly bitter mark on him. He needed a little triumph over his humiliation.

They made camp wholly, each of them setting out to hunt for a meal for that night with the hope for some extra meat they could cure and stow away for later. Their search was plentiful with hares already fat after hibernation. Cori collected their pelts, saving them to sell later. After an early supper, they sat around their fire and tended to their weapons, sharpening and cleaning. For an hour, those were the only sounds to float about their lodgings, aside from the customary heavy breathing of the dwarves. It drove her completely mad. She wanted to fidget; creating new arrows did not placate her need to do something with her hands. Eventually, she would end up ruining her vital creations if she continued in this state. She tossed her things to the ground in front of her.

Never one to keep itself hidden, the part of her mind that always caused her to dwell on the most dreadful outcomes had taken hold of her head. She could not stop thinking about Thorin sitting in a damp, cramped cell, trying to find comfort on a stone floor with his wounds plaguing him. He did not know that she had been in that room, listening to the Man and making plans for his rescue. He would not expect them to know where he was going and how to find him. He had very little hope for escape. There was a chance he truly believed she had left him to save herself. It was an unimaginable feeling, that hopelessness. It made her want to cry, and reach out to touch him as she did when he was only an arm’s length away from her.

“Cori?”

She jerked her head up, staring wide-eyed at the golden-haired boy leaning in front of her. He had asked, but he did not look confused. His expression was observant, acknowledging, and sympathetic. He knew where her mind had gone. “What if there was something I could’ve done?”

He shook his head, reaching to hold her tiny hand in his warm grip. “Nothing that would’ve seen you both unharmed.”

“I pledged to protect him—the leader of this group and the king—when I signed that contract. But I did neither. I…I ran.”

“Curious, lass,” Dwalin asked, his voice holding none of the sympathy of the boy’s. “What _would_ you have done?”

She swallowed, trying to find a spark in her somewhere that would make her next statement true. “I would have sacrificed myself for him. He must survive to rule over Erebor. He’ll be the one to lead the dwarves against Ryone.” She would ask no one else to die for her.

“No.” Fíli was firm, shown also in the tightening of his hand on her wrist. “There would be no sense in sacrificing yourself for him.”

“But compared to him—”

“You are worth it, Cori! You are worth the sacrifice. And he would say the same thing. If he were here now, he would be barking at you for even thinking such a thing. Put it out of your mind. We are not, nor will we ever be, _better_ than you.”

Her breath caught as she stared into his frantic, flashing eyes. She saw it, then: a reflection of what she was feeling in him. Then she glanced around at the others, and realized she was not the only one drowning in the guilt of one who survived. They all stared at the ground, ashamed, feeling the weight of their status; they would always be protected above all others, and they hated it.

She reached forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. He buried his nose in her throat, the braids dangling off his lip tickling her skin, and he took her in a strong embrace. He felt it already, the weight of the kingdom he would inherit. He had to watch his guards—no, his brothers—die the day before, for _him._ The kind-hearted prince, so much like his king yet still able to cling to some innocence. He would be everything his people needed him to be.

She made her way around the fire and fell into the arms of each of her companions, grasping onto what was left of their torn group. They accepted her readily, bestowing a small kiss onto her cheek. It lifted her spirits and stoked her determination: they would not lose another one. Thorin would return to them, and they could have their revenge on the wretch who started all of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mission Impossible: Hobbit Edition. Will our little troop manage to rescue Thorin in time? Tune in shortly. :)
> 
> thanks love you guys <3


	23. The Strength of the Few

Sleep did not bring relief from the multitude of what-if scenarios trailing through Cori’s head that all ended horribly for Thorin and the part of her pulse that now beat for him. By the time the sun arose the next morning, she might as well have gotten no rest whatsoever.

Her new fears featured all the ways that their rescue the next day could go wrong. They could not predict how this plan would progress. They were essentially walking in blind, and impeccable improvisation would be the key to Thorin’s freedom. However, the dwarves would see things were done properly and effectively. Already, Dwalin had handed out roles for this mission as best as he possibly could, given the circumstances, which had been constructed more for the sake of keeping her and the brothers alive. Their encounter with the Men in Stonewall left them conceding that defense would have to be their main tactic, a limiting factor in getting an unarmed and possibly injured Thorin out of the area. They were almost guaranteed to be outnumbered, though, so it would have to do.

Still, this venture would require them to walk on eggshells most of the time, and every minute they wasted with sensibility was another minute that could see the end to the current king of Durin’s folk. Oh, it frustrated her being unable to take on those thugs like she wanted to. She would show them the wrath of an inconvenienced hobbit, and it would be quite the lesson. If only she could admit that it was just her lack of size and strength that held her back and not the crippling trepidation that seized her every time she thought about going near those Men.

As she sat by the firepit, nibbling on seed cake for breakfast before they set out, she came to the decision that this was entirely unlike her. When had Cori Houndberry ever balked at danger? There was no denying that such an attitude usually put her in more messes than if she left well enough alone (stepping onto a fresh battlefield only to find a half-dead dwarf prince led to some interesting ends, after all). But how could she regret them, especially this? Friends like the ones she sat with now came only with a blue moon, and she had been given the chance to help make a difference in the lives of a perpetually threatened race. And now, she was about to go save the man she cared for more deeply than anyone else in her life. There were always benefits to doing something brave, even when the effort made her want to curl up beneath the covers of a comfortable bed and forget danger was ever a part of this world like her kin.

Of course, she had never been in love before. There. The perfect excuse for her nerves.

“Ready?” Kíli asked after camp had been cleared. He helped her to her feet, settling a steady, boisterous grin on her. They all were confident, even when their odds hardly reflected such a thing. It seemed enough to run an entire nation.

“Ready.” She shouldered her quiver after slipping her sword back into it, trying to mimic his expression for them and herself. These dwarves seemed to have bravery to spare, after all.

By the time they trekked through the forest back to the wooden walls of the town, the sun peaked over the mountains in the east. A small path leading out of the gate veered off from the road only a little before it led into the trees and became buried beneath the previous autumn’s decaying leaves. They settled into the bushes just beside the path for an indefinite period of waiting.

“Do we strike here?” she asked.

Dwalin sent her a look that almost had her double checking for an extra head on her shoulders. “Right here? Where any number o’ those buggers could come through that gate and offer reinforcements? You’ve got the spark, lass, but you’ve got a brain, too.”

“They might return and cower behind the gates, too,” Fíli informed her, “and then we’ll be back where we started with our cover blown.”

“No,” Dwalin continued, “we’re tailin’ them until they’re far enough away that there’s no chance we’ll be ambushed in the middle o’ doin’ the ambushin’.”

Just then, the gates creaked open. From within, a convoy of Men on large horses appeared, light chatter and the jangling of tack trailing behind them. A bystander would make the assumption that they were on their way to war: leather and mail were fitted to each rider’s body, the long swords on their hips thumped repeatedly against their mounts’ sides, and two flag bearers led the way. A very uniform group they were, with one oddity. Astride one of the horses near the middle behind its armored rider was a smaller figure, head obscured by a dark bag and hands bound together with ropes held by two flanking soldiers. The troop moved with practiced fluidity and pride.

Cori stared at the anomaly among them as if she had just spotted an oasis in the desert. He had survived the dungeon, well enough to ride a horse. Her anxiety dissipated, replaced in a flash of anger. She had never felt a fiercer desire to safeguard something than she did at that moment. Whatever force they could conjure up against her mattered less than a fly on a cow’s rump. Nothing would get in her way now.

“Come on.” Dwalin waved them all on, leading them through the bushes along the path. The undergrowth within the trees allowed them to disappear almost entirely, provided they kept their footsteps as light as possible. Cori had no problem with such a thing, but anytime a boot behind her settled down on a pile of leaves, she could feel her insides twist. The moment they were spotted was near at hand, if this kept up.

At first, it did not seem as if the riders would cross the river. Their orders had been to dump him in the wilderness north of the downs to the west of the Shire, but a company of that size would not be able to fit onto a dinky old raft. Instead, they followed the river a little ways south. They emerged from the forest onto another path that seemed to materialize out of the brush. This led straight into the water of the river, visible beneath the ripples within. A shallow area. Where had this been when they had to hitch a ride with the sketchy characters on the barge several weeks ago? Next time one of these dwarves claimed to know the land like the underside of their beards, she would endeavor to make sure they never lived this down.

“I really didn’t want to get wet again,” she murmured as they paused in the bushes along the bank, waiting for the convoy to cross.

“I could hold you above my head, if you wanted me to,” Dwalin smirked at her. “Though, I haveta warn you, our chances o’ bein’ caught spring up with you.”

She shook her head. “I’d prefer to feel the ground beneath my feet, thank you, even if it is soggy.”

They crossed the river swiftly once the troop disappeared into the forest on the opposite bank. For a few miles, they trailed behind the troop with resolute concentration, dashing between bushes and trees when needed. The warming sun shed plentiful light on the forest, making the game a little more difficult for the active players. The riders continued on, oblivious to their tail and jubilantly laughing amongst themselves.

They passed through a small meadow, a swift break in the endless growth of trees, and Cori felt confident they were nearing a time when they could finally spring their attack. Then somebody behind her stumbled into her back and grabbed her belt to stay upright, nearly tossing her to the ground, and she thought their entire plan was almost stomped beneath those heavy boots. “Watch it!” she hissed.

“Sorry,” Kíli whispered back.

“If you could refrain from being your usual clumsy self for just a moment, please. Their horses might spook if they hear us.”

“I’m not clumsy,” he pouted. “And you’re worried about the horses when there’s Men with _spears_ up there?” One heated glare around her shoulder had him thoroughly reprimanded.

“We’ve got one shot,” Dwalin said. “If we lose the element of surprise, we’ll never get close to them. They have archers.”

“What don’t they have?” Fíli murmured.

“So do we.” Kíli jiggled the top of her bow where it was strung over her shoulder.

“Two against a dozen? _Someone_ is bound to hit their mark, and it’ll be the end of us surely.”

“What are they doing with so many armed escorts anyway?”

Cori let out a shaky breath. “I’d hate to meet whatever they’re expecting to find.”

The road returned to the forest soon afterward, and here was where she knew they needed to act. The bare hills northwest of the Shire would provide no cover to allow their plan to work, and once they left the forest they were in now, there was no telling how much farther the Men would go before relieving themselves of their cargo.

And she did not trust them to just leave him for the wild to claim. No, this vengeful lot would see that he suffered in the name of their bigotry. No one would know otherwise. They had to stop them before they grew tired of carrying him.

“Now,” Dwalin whispered, pointing the brothers across the path just as the convoy moved on. They nodded, slinking through the open after making sure no one would turn back to see them. Deftly, they disappeared into the bushes on the other side.

“Hopefully they can pick up their feet,” she muttered to her remaining companion who fought off a chuckle. They both knew those boys were capable of getting the job done when they needed to. Swiftly, they scurried on to catch up with the pack until they fell in front of the flag bearers. With a nod from Dwalin, Cori found a suitable hole in the vegetation and drew an arrow to fire at the hooves of the leading horses. It skipped off the ground and vanished into the woods on the other side of the path. The animals danced in surprise, whirling around until their riders (who were nearly unseated) jerked them back into line. These Men were surely no descendants of Rohan; none of the plains folk would be caught flopping around in their saddles. Gondor, then? Either way, a disgraceful bunch of errand boys this looked like. She sat back to watch the entertainment and wait for her next command.

“You’ve got to the count o’ five to release the dwarf before the fury of Aulë rains down on all o’ ya!” Dwalin yelled with that menacing snarl of his. “Yer surrounded!”

Oh, how she loved that almost indiscernible accent when he was angry.

From the other side, another arrow appeared through the bushes, kicking up a small puff of dust where it hit in a likewise fashion. Cori backtracked to fetch it, shuffling every now and then to keep up the illusion. And it seemed to be working. All the riders frantically checked over their shoulders, tugging their reins this way and that in search of their elusive foes.

“Come out, cowards!” one man who seemed to be the captain cried, drawing his sword dramatically. “Face us like men!”

“Five!”

Cori shot again, this time just skimming past the helmet back of one of the middle riders. He and those nearby jerked in her direction, drawing their swords. She just snickered, scurrying back toward her partner before all those flint points ended up in her.

“Come out, I say!” the captain shouted again.

“When we’re good and ready!” Fíli’s voice echoed. A yellow-fletched arrow whizzed back across the path, lodging into the ground at the base of a tree.

“Four!”

“Dishonorable scum!” another soldier screamed, shooting blindly into the brush on his left. Fíli and Kíli would have moved toward the back of the line. “All dwarves! The lot o’ you! Filthy ditch-digging mongrels!”

How very original.

“Three!”

“If you dare make a move, we’ll kill him!” The captain sent a gesture back toward his troop. In response, two swords pointed at the base of Thorin’s neck, creeping dangerously close beneath the hood over his head.

Cori’s heart jumped. _Uh, oh!_ Think, think, think!

“And what do you think _he_ would say?” she called. And what an effort she made to deepen her voice. It could _almost_ convince somebody that a pre-pubescent boy was threatening them.

The captain held up a hand to stall his soldiers, glaring into the bushes exactly in her direction. “What are you talking about, runt?”

That sounded exactly like what he would say if he could actually see her. These Men were almost as predictable as dwarves. “You know of whom I speak. The Man in the Hills. Would you go against his agenda?”

The man hesitated. “What would he want with this dwarf?”

“Don’t you know who you’re carrying? Think! What advantage could the _king_ bring to your cause? That is not an opportunity I would pass up, if I were him. And if he found out that you were doing this under the orders of a dastardly lord who would jeopardize the cause out of fear?”

His face darkened. “Watch your tongue.”

“What? Afraid of what else I know?”

A vicious smirk crossed the captain’s face. “It matters not. We care not for his endeavors. A few less dwarves will roam this land when we are done here. And one less halfling, it looks like. Pity. I thought you were smart, running like you did and not looking back. Now, the army will have another infestation to exterminate.”

Her breath caught, and she suddenly felt extremely dizzy. _No._

From the other side of the path, two arrows in rapid succession struck the hands holding the swords to Thorin’s throat. They both yelped in pain, barely clinging to their startled horses as they clutched their injured limbs to the breasts.

Cori shook the fog of fear from her mind. _Focus or you die!_

“Two!”

“Last chance!” she yelled, hoping they would not take it. “If you leave now, you might leave with your lives! Otherwise, you will get what you deserve. You attacked us first while we were in your town, and we will defend ourselves.”

The troop stood strong, the archer’s bows ready and the swordsmen’s blade brandished high. Their cause was strong, and their loyalty misplaced and blind. No matter how nobly they faced their enemy, if they kept their lives, many more would be in danger. She would not remember this day fondly; she would only see blood.

“Loose!”

Two arrows from opposite sides of the path simultaneously left the brush, striking the captain and his second in the neck and felling them. Cori immediately reloaded her string, shooting another in the same spot just as a throwing knife whizzed through the air and struck one of the two holding the ropes in the shoulder. A retaliation of arrows rained on her bushes, and she jumped back a few feet to avoid them.

Then, Dwalin’s impatience won out. He charged the road with a fearsome battle cry.

_Oh, Yavanna._

Fíli sprung out not far behind him, both clobbering the soldiers who dared to dismount their horses. Cori continued to cover them from her hiding spot, taking out the archers one by one just as Kíli did the same from his side. Soon, only swordsmen were left, and she ran out of arrows.

Emerging from the vegetation, she found her first priority had already been taken care of: Kíli brought Thorin down from the now riderless horse, removing his binds and handing him Orcrist. As more horses fled the scene, the dwarves, reunited with their leader, made short work of the soldiers, taking revenge with each stroke of their weapons as they fought in defense of their persecuted king.

Cori watched from the side, trying to look upon the faces of their opponents and see monsters. They accosted two strangers in the market street completely unprovoked, cornering and shooting at them while horrendously outnumbered. Those were not faces who would go home to loving families. They were not beguiled by fanciful words of a madman. No, she could not see them that way. Otherwise, she would never get to sleep at night.

Finally, the deed was done. All fell quiet as those who remained stood amongst the bodies of their foes, panting and sweaty but satisfied with their work. “Mongrels themselves,” Dwalin growled, wiping his axes down.

“More than you know,” Thorin replied, sneering maliciously at them. His attacks had been particularly unmerciful.

Cori fought the rising nausea in her stomach at all that her arrows had done today, moving through the carnage toward the dwarf king. Now that the haze of battle was gone from her mind, she realized the extent of the bruises and gashes covering his face, leading all the way down into the collar of his dirty tunic. What was underneath, she probably did not want to see. Her heart soared at seeing him standing and alive, but…

As she approached, he gave her a soft smile and opened a welcoming arm. However, that smile dashed away quickly with the resounding smack that echoed against the trees where her hand connected with his cheek. He turned his head back toward her, mouth agape in shock.

“Never,” she growled, nearly sticking her finger up a nostril. “ _Never_ do that again. You hear me, Oakenshield? You’re a right scoundrel. _Never_ make me leave you like that again.”

He stared down at her as if a whole different creature had just popped up in front of him. A completely different story from the other three dwarves, who all fought off giggles like giddy children. “I…”

“No, no!” She wagged the finger back and forth, and he followed it. “I don’t want any apologies. I want to know that you will never willingly endanger yourself by charging an entire army on your own again. And if that means keeping somebody around—which includes me—you’re just going to have to deal with it.” She folded her arms, waiting with an impatient tap of her foot.

A cross between surprise and amusement flashed over the dwarf’s face, but not a hint of haughtiness remained. “I will not.”

She nodded definitively. “Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page. Now.” This time, when she reached for him, it was to slide her arms around his neck and squeeze as hard as she could. He accepted her with a sigh, rubbing her back soothingly with his free hand. “Are you all right?” she asked in his ear, wondering when she reached the appropriate threshold for letting go because she would stay right here as long as she could.

“Well enough.” He pressed a quick, soundless kiss to her neck where his nose was buried, so lightly that a few seconds passed before she even realized he did it. When he pulled back, he tugged at his tunic and pretended to brush dust from his shoulder. Then he seemed to notice what was in his hand, yet did not voice his confusion over how Orcrist returned to him.

“Impeccable hospitality, these Overton men,” Fíli commented, stepping up to clasp arms with his uncle. The two exchanged a quick smile before Kíli did the same.

“No fiercer than a feisty hobbit.” The prince tapped a finger to said hobbit’s nose, chuckling at her delayed attempt to swipe his hand away.

“That’s insulting,” she pouted.

“How kind of them to give you an escort,” Dwalin snickered, glancing around at what remained of it.

“Let’s move them off the road,” Thorin said. “I’m tired of looking at their faces.”

While the dwarves got to work dragging over a dozen men off the worn path, Cori made a pass around to collect her arrows. Two had broken when the targets tumbled off their horses and landed on them. However, most of her stock survived to be used another day, only now stained in blood. She typically did not worry about animal blood, yet this might be too much to sit around and stare at. Her conscience still could not accept that this had been entirely necessary and justifiable.

The task was finished promptly, and by the time everyone regrouped, the consensus became an early camp that night. Cori was glad. Thorin made no complaints over his obvious injuries, but he certainly suppressed the worst of what he was feeling and presented a neutral expression. A hardier dwarf she had never met, but the true extent of the damage remained a mystery to everyone but him, and his dignity would see it stayed that way. They were stuck in a land supposedly housing orcs with a vulnerable dwarf; they did not need a sick one.

Eventually, the path they were on completely disappeared, and they had no choice but to trek deeper into the wilderness. After walking for a few miles south, watching the sun creep into the west, they stumbled on a gentle creek with plenty of cover around it. A late evening breeze picked up, urging them to build a fire against the cooling air. They broke out what was left of their salted dinner from the night before. Thorin borrowed an extra water skin from Dwalin, throwing it back greedily. He dug into the food with the least amount of decorum Cori had ever seen, and she debated about how fruitful an attempt to offer him part of hers would be. He had not eaten since noon the day before, so when he did his usual offer of a piece to her, she immediately turned it down.

“What happened after I left?” she asked once he seemed to slow down a little.

“Overwhelmed me in the alley. I stumbled over a silenced opponent I didn’t think would hinder me further, but he did me in anyway. One of them struck the hilt of his sword into my face just before I could recover my footing.” He pointed to the swollen bruise on the side of his nose with his little finger. “I awoke just as they were dragging me into the jail. They stripped me of everything: bag, food, coat. And, of course, my sword. I remained in a holding cell until they took me before the lord of the town.”

“What did they want with you?” Fíli asked, covering his full mouth with his hand.

Thorin rolled his eyes. “I assume, if they hadn’t figured out who I was, I would have been treated like any other dwarf who happened to wander in there unawares. Maybe they thought they could get information out of me, but of what nature, I truly couldn’t guess. Either that, or they just wanted to make a big deal out of killing another dwarf. The most gracious lord of Overton spun a beautiful, heart-wrenching story of how dwarves fleeing from certain death and seeking refuge behind their walls had begun to diminish the quality of their perfect settlement. A ploy to gain my pity and loosen my tongue, but that fell apart when I called their bluff. I have no doubt they are with Ryone and take great pleasure in the suffering of dwarves.”

“I think that’s a given, after our hobbit’s little negotiation back there.” Dwalin fixed an almost scolding expression on her.

“Were you planning on leaving any of them alive anyway?”

He shrugged. “Suppose not.”

“And he’s still alive. Now imagine if I hadn’t stalled.” Just because things were in shambles around her most of the time did not mean she was incapable of wit when it counted. “Well, at least we have confirmation that there’s a whole town full of his followers waiting in the reserves. Now the question is what to do with it.”

“One that’ll be answered eventually.” Thorin stuffed one last bite of bread into his mouth as he patted her knee. Then he reached over to his other side and grasped Orcrist firmly. “Last I saw of this, it was in the hands of one of the guards, taken Mahal knows where. How did you get it back?”

“Trusty hobbit feet,” Fíli chuckled, grinning at Cori.

When Thorin returned his gaze to her, she knew she was in trouble. It was high time the boy learned the consequences of his actions, and hopefully her impending throttling would do the trick. Thorin’s voice dropped impossibly low. “You didn’t.”

She bit her lip. “If you asked any of the humans, I didn’t.”

“Cori.”

“It was the only way to know if you were alive,” she snapped back, her folded arms quite pathetically resembling a child in a tantrum. “It’s how I knew they were taking you out of town, and where you were going.”

He swallowed with difficulty. “You were in that room?”

She nodded. “After you were taken out, the lord told his men to leave you in the wilderness to die of thirst or by orcs instead of taking you to the Hills of Evendim, like he told you. The guard that had Orcrist didn’t go far, so I tailed him and snatched it when his back was turned.”

He sighed a long breath through his nose, tipping his head toward the sky in a gesture not unlike a disappointed parent with their child, of course, throwing a pathetic tantrum. “You tossed yourself right back into their hands after _narrowly_ escaping?”

“No, I danced _around_ their hands. Like I said, no one knew I was there.”

“Cori’s right, Thorin,” Fíli interrupted. “If she hadn’t done that, we wouldn’t have known if you were to be killed later in the day. It was our best option, and she agreed to it.”

Despite the compelling reiteration from his nephew, Thorin seemed completely stuck in whatever scenario-driven state of mind he had been sucked into. The foreboding look he gave her alluded to a continuation of his rebuking later on.

“How did they treat you in the dungeons?” Kíli asked, hesitant but determined to get rid of the tension around the fire.

“Trying their hardest to pretend I wasn’t there,” he scoffed, tossing another log on the flames. “Me and everyone else.”

“‘Everyone?’” Dwalin repeated.

Something darkened within Thorin’s eyes that made him seem a small push away from exploding. His teeth ground audibly. “Oh, I wasn’t alone. I counted at least a dozen dwarves while being taken to my cell, and I was not led far at all. There could be much more. Kenneled like dogs for months, if I discerned their condition correctly.”

“Mahal curse them,” Dwalin growled, fists clenched hard. “I ain’t got a bit o’ remorse for killin’ all those bastards back there. I do, however, regret lettin’ the lass stop me from stormin’ in there and layin’ waste to every single one o’ them in that forsaken place.”

There really was no way to be more clear-cut than that. Those men had been aware of what was going on in their town and allowed it to continue. Anyone capable of treating someone so badly and holding them prisoner with no valid cause deserves a reserved spot at the end of a sharp blade. They were not a town of Men, but a nest of vipers. “We must get them out. We have to set them free.”

Thorin nodded. “Once we deal with the animal behind all this chaos, we will.”

“I don’t think you’re in any condition to be dealing with anyone.” Fíli’s stern gaze bore into his uncle. “You look horrible.”

“I’m fine, lad. Had a warg take a bite out of me once, remember?”

Cori gulped. So that was what those round scars were on his torso and back she saw the other night. She was caught between disappointment of not hearing about this story earlier and quite frankly never wanting to _ever._

“Gandalf’s not here to put you back together this time. If the rest of your body looks like your face, you need to rest before you lead an army against orcs and Men who have proven capable of taking on dwarf soldiers and winning. No need to go around impressing anyone.” The wink he sent Cori made her cheeks warm.

Everyone expected Thorin to argue more, but he surprised them all by chuckling. “Already handing out orders, are you, _uzbadith_?”

Fíli seemed thoroughly chided, looking down at his fidgeting hands. “My apologies, sir.”

“Hold your head up, _kidhuzural._ At this rate, I may be able to abdicate far sooner than I expected. I cannot be prouder of you for all you’ve become. Both of you.” He affectionately ruffled Kíli’s hair, pulling him into his side for an embrace. “What do you suggest?”

“The Shire,” Cori blurted out before anyone. “We’re extremely close to the Westfarthing, and no one of consequence would suspect a thing. That is, if the Rangers have kept up the defense.”

“Would your family accept a band of road-worn dwarves into their home?” Dwalin asked, the obvious answer pulling a smirk from him. Oh, how she would have loved to test it out.

“Hobbiton’s closer.”

All present came to the same conclusion at once with a collective laugh. An official vote was not needed.

“Well,” Thorin sighed, “looks like we’ll be invading the home of Master Bilbo Baggins once again. After that, we will continue our journey to the Hills of Evendim to await Lord Arin’s troops, if they aren’t already there.”

By nightfall, the company began to settle in for a much deserved respite. Cori took the first watch again, and rejoiced internally when nobody gave her any suspicious looks. She settled in with a hare fur to sew. However, she found she would be accompanied. The others quickly drifted off to sleep from their terribly long day, yet Thorin hardly seemed keen to acknowledge her as he dug into Orcrist with a rag. She puffed a frustrated sigh. What could have possessed her to accept the advances of a stubborn grump like him? “Thorin…”

“That was irresponsible of you,” he grumbled. Apparently, he was not one to let sleeping dogs lie.

She rolled her eyes. “Are we going back and forth with this all night?” Her thread nearly came out of the hole when she tugged too hard, and she bit out a curse beneath her breath. “By the way, you are impossibly strong to be able to wield that sword with ease like you do. I almost had to drag it out behind me like a sack of apples.”

The combined joke and compliment seemed to douse his temper. The image appeared in his mind, too, if the amused grin within his beard was anything to go by. “Don’t think I didn’t see you throwing rocks from the rooftop after I gave you an explicit order to run.”

“You failed to specify that I had a time limit.”

“You were supposed to run.”

“And I wonder what would’ve happened if I didn’t.” She dropped her hands into her lap with a loud slap. “If I hadn’t fled. I should’ve stayed with you. Dwalin or the boys would have. _Anyone else_ would have. My cowardice almost cost you your life.”

Suddenly, her work was ripped from her hands and tossed aside. A pair of hands curled around her with the easy strength that swung that weighty sword today and tugged her into his lap. She tried to wiggle free, bent on throwing a fit just a little longer. It was a lost cause, but she attempted anyway.

“Do not fight me, you mad little thing. You’ll find that I will match you in every way.” He tightened his grip on her securely, and she knew she was trapped. With a sigh, she relaxed into him and dropped her head onto his shoulder.

“Now, if you are done, it is time to educate you on strategizing. Let me lay it out for you here. Say they had planned on killing us both right away, no questions asked. Had you been there, we both would’ve died. That wouldn’t have done anyone any good. You know why?”

She clamped her lips shut. A squeak muffled in her throat when she felt a pinch on an ass cheek.

“Fine. Keep your spite. If we both died, or if we both ended up captured, you would not have been there to lead Dwalin, Fíli, and Kíli to me. They would’ve never known we were in there, nor would they have found us after being dumped in the wilderness. Because you obeyed me, we are both alive and I am free. You see? Running doesn’t make you a coward. It means you have good foresight. Being one step ahead of your enemy is the only way to win battle.”

She buried her face in his neck, trying to let his words wash away the guilt. He spoke truthfully. No, she was not craven. _This_ time. “I guess so.”

He chuckled quietly, planting a small kiss on her cheek. “I would refrain from hesitating from now on. Seconds might be precious in a moment like that.”

“I still did what you said, _Your Majesty._ It was more than I could say for you. What was that you said as I was leaving? ‘Right behind you?’”

“My apologies, Miss Houndberry. I will try to keep my promises from now on.”

“Good.” She sniffed, finding the warmth of his body as addictive and difficult to pull away from as Old Toby. “They didn’t hurt you in there, did they?” she asked, her voice suddenly small after such a trying sparring match.

He grinned, pulling her even closer. “No, _khajimel._ They had very little hope of doing much damage.”

“Good.” Then she thought of something else that relentlessly tumbled around in her mind. She was desperate for the answer, she realized. “Do you think it possible that some of those humans are being coerced into an idea they wouldn’t normally agree to?”

“Brainwashed, you mean?”

She nodded.

“Absolutely.” He paused, then gave a little chuff of a laugh. “You are quite possibly the most intriguing creature I’ve ever met.”

Should she be insulted? “What?”

“You are looking for a redeeming quality in them after all you saw and heard today. That is a far nobler trait of yours than any of them really deserve, no matter if they are fed propaganda.”

“There were children in the town.”

“I assure you they are free from all judgment.”

She nodded. Her focus shifted to the circles his fingers drew on her thigh and the tingles that came with it. “Can I tend your wounds?”

“You are tired, darling,” he whispered soothingly. “You should rest for the journey tomorrow.”

“Please?”

Her tone seemed to coerce him, and he allowed her to slip off his legs. When she returned with a canteen and clean cloth, he shed his tunic. The skin across his ribs was blue and purple, some of the largest bruises Cori had ever seen. They would not be a pretty sight in a few days. “The only abrasion is this.” He pointed to a small cut on his left side which was surrounded by dried blood. “They grew frustrated with some of my straps, so they started cutting everything off. None too carefully, as you can see.”

“Beasts,” she murmured, cleaning the area with hearty scrubbing. He did not even flinch.

“I would use a stronger word, but yes.”

“I’m sure Khuzdul’s pretty colorful.”

“It’s not nice; it gets the job done.”

Stepping between his legs, she dampened her cloth again and patted at a split on his cheekbone. His eyes gazing up at her were tender, a sharp contrast to the brutality she watched trounce all of his enemies today. Then something tickled the back of her knee, and she knew she was with a completely different person.

“You are much too grim, _khajimele,_ ” he teased, grinning at her attempts to move her leg away from his hand. “You should take some lessons from the boys. It baffles me still how they can remain so jovial.”

“What does that mean? That word you keep saying. Cu-zi—”

When his mischievous hand found hers, he drew it up to his lips and pressed the lightest kiss to her knuckles. “Gift. My gift. For that is what you are, aren’t you?”

That was what he called her when she asked to continue with the company further after Durmark. He complimented her that night in more ways than she had ever been before, and she knew for certain it was a moment that sent her falling further for him.

“I did not know what purpose you would have on the quest, and it seems my words then have been confirmed. I would have been an incredible fool to deny you.”

“Someone has to keep you out of trouble, old man.” She flinched away from another pinch.

“That temper of yours alone could set a warg about-face.”

“I want to protect you.”

Mirth sparkled in his eyes. “Do you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Not because you need it.” She cupped his jaw, threading her fingers through his beard, which had begun to grow just a little longer after the last few days. “I just…have to.”

He stared up at her, a small grin slowly forming. “Well, you seem to be doing splendidly so far.”

She giggled, leaning down to press a kiss to those inviting lips. Then she realized she almost lost him more times than she wanted to think about, and she pressed a little harder. He opened up to her, pulling her closer to his chest. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, surrounding her like his heat did. When her mind nearly succeeded in convincing her to lead him into the bushes where the stream would mask any noise, she pulled back. “When should we tell them?”

He glanced off to the side with a raised eyebrow. “There’s no chance they don’t know already. Either way, don’t be afraid to make it positively clear.”

She snorted, yanking on his hair when he chuckled. While he was there, his noble nose pointed to the sky and his red lips just as tempting as ever, she dove in for another peck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> 1\. Uzbadith: little king  
> 2\. Kidhuzural: golden one
> 
> Yay, they got him back! And we're heading off to see Bilbo finally. Poor guy can't get a break from dwarves invading his home. XD  
> Thanks again for your lovely support! Every comment and kudos puts a smile on my face and brightens my day just a bit.


	24. Worthy

The Shire was a completely different scene from when Cori visited home in Buckleberry. The entire place from Michel Delving to Crickhollow burst with color when spring and summer emerged from the cold grip of snow, but every time she came, there was nothing but bare trees, dry grass, and deserted fields. How many years had it been since she actually saw this place in full bloom? While the new growth for this year was still slowly coming in, at least the early spring blossoms would be waiting for her. She was especially excited for the crisp white dogwoods.

But they had a small obstacle to overcome first, of course, to keep in accordance with the rest of their journey. The Rangers had been dutiful in keeping the northern border closed off to any unwanted folk that would have come down from the Hills. As such, their small group had to pass through a checkpoint before entering the Shire. Out of all that had attempted a jump, the guards blocking the road told them, they seemed the least suspicious. In the end, Cori’s presence got them through in very little time.

“I’d like to see them try to keep a hobbit from their homeland,” Dwalin commented as they continued on the course after the small pause.

“I’d just bribe them with a pinch of Longbottom leaf,” she replied. “ _No one_ can resist.”

After wandering Bindbole for a day, their pace leisurely for Thorin’s sake though no one dared mention it, they entered Hobbiton around noon on the 18th of April. As soon as they placed a foot onto the North-South Road, they high-stepped it. The dwarves, who had already tasted the sweet hospitality of hobbits, eagerly anticipated another round of Shire ales and Southfarthing cinnamon bread. Cori joined them in daydreaming, though she desired above all else a roof and a bed. And where better to put up her feet for a while than Bilbo’s grand home?

Cori enjoyed Hobbiton immensely. Keeping a low profile during the heaviest of winter months, she rented a tiny room in the Proudfoot Smials a few times over the years. Much of her hard-earned profits went into the Green Dragon. And the best part? Nobody knew her. Sure, she probably shared diluted blood with a few residents, but none that would claim her as family or demand anything of her. As the Shire was prone to do, everything in Hobbiton remained the same as it was the last time she came through here. One was guaranteed constancy when hobbits were involved, and ever did she appreciate it.

The dwarves took in their surroundings with familiarity. It was only a short while ago that they came here, marching in just as they were now to scoop up Bilbo and take off for Erebor. They seemed just as keen to sightsee, however; there truly was no more beautiful place in Middle-earth than the Shire when one wanted to see greenery, so much different from what they were used to.

After turning off the road, they walked for only a couple hours before, finally, she saw the famous Party Tree cresting on the horizon. Not long after, they could see Bag End and the old oak tree standing proudly on top of it. “We actually found it,” Kíli said, glancing down into the valley and toward the tavern off in the distance. “And with him in the lead.”

Thorin barked something in Khuzdul, prompting a collective snicker from the brothers.

“What’s that mean?” Cori asked, gaze flickering between the silently perturbed king and his tremendously amused heirs.

“Oh, we forgot to tell you about his one?” Fíli shook his head. “At this point, it’s difficult to keep up with what stories we’ve told and which ones we haven’t. The first thing Thorin said when he walked into Bag End that night, after the rest of us had already partaken in supper and a song, was that he lost his way coming here.”

“Twice,” Kíli mouthed soundlessly, holding up the corresponding number of fingers.

This time, Cori glanced around as if she was only entering for the first time, trying to locate the misleading paths that he had (impressively) stumbled upon. It was a straight road! “How on earth did you accomplish that, you great lug?”

“It was dark,” was Thorin’s level-voiced response, though he kept his face pointed down their path.

“I thought dwarves had great vision at night. Comes with living in a cave.”

“Now she insults my home.  Insolent hobbit.”

“Stubborn dwarf. Ask directions. The worst thing that could come of it is if they pass out at the sight of you. Folk are delicate around here. But you could probably have gotten some jarbled response before they hit the dirt. Giver save me, how did you ever find Erebor?”

“Thank you, Miss Houndberry. Your advice is appreciated.”

She rolled her eyes, exchanging looks with a grinning Dwalin as they passed through the gate and up the steps to the round green door. She brushed past him and reached up to ring the bell at the top.

“Hey, he fixed it,” Kíli commented.

Fíli replied, “Bofur sure did a number on it.”

Thorin huffed a laugh. “That explains that. Every other door I passed had a bell, except this one.”

“Are you surprised?” Dwalin asked.

“Bofur? You learn quickly to expect anything from him. Curious, that one.”

Dwalin hummed. “Rivendell.”

“Aye.”

For once, chatter did not fly straight over her head. She immediately knew who they spoke of. How could she possibly forget the hatted dwarf that led a rousing stomp during dinner with Lord Elrond? She had been fuming, watching the company toss the elves’ food around like confetti. She was suddenly eager to put faces to names she had heard several times in conversation over the past few months.

Leaning against the wall next to the door as they waited, Cori removed her boots, stepping off the stones to feel the green grass between her toes. The flowers and the garden looked spectacular already; a good eye for flora was watching over it closely. She breathed in the warm air and fresh scents. Home.

They did not have to wait long for the door to open, the hesitant face of a curious hobbit peeking out from the small crack. Bilbo sighed as if a heavy pack had fallen from his shoulders, throwing the door open wider. “Oh, dear, Cori Houndberry. I was sure it was my relatives come knocking again. Vengeful creatures they are. Never come back from the dead, I’m telling you now. Why, I haven’t seen you since Rivendell. What brings you all this—oh!” He had just stepped out of the door to embrace her when his eye caught her companions, his mouth and eyes rounding like saucers.

“Bilbo!” the brothers cried simultaneously, Kíli reaching him first with that rib-crushing squeeze of his. Fíli was next, patting him fondly when he pulled away. “How’s our burglar been?”

“Uh…well.” The master of Bag End still floundered, blinking repeatedly as if waiting for them to disappear. “Well as I can be.” His shock was staggering, yet the pure joy melting into his face could not be fallacious. He was absolutely ecstatic to see them, and Cori grinned as she stood by and watched.

“Obviously.” Dwalin thumped him hard on the back, but Bilbo barely flinched. He braced. Repetitive conditioning. Cori snorted. “Missed not one of your absurd mealtimes since being back, have you?”

“No, I have not. And I kindly ask you to keep your comments about my eating habits to yourself, as closely as you hold your own strange rituals.”

“Noted.” Thorin stepped forward, pulling the hobbit to his chest by the shoulders. “It’s good to see you, Master Baggins.”

A wide grin crossed Bilbo’s face as he returned the embrace. “And you. By the hair on my feet, you look awful. And stripped down to your skin. What happened?”

“A very long story. Do you mind if we come in for a while and tell you our tale?”

“Of course, of course. All of you, come in, please. It’s almost time for tea.”

“What number is that?” Dwalin mused as they all filed into the large smial.

Cori rolled her eyes. “Five.” She would remember to pick a dwarven custom to quip about repeatedly the next time she learned one. She would be damned if she let these dwarves get away with hypocrisy.

Bag End was always the talk of the Shire, especially amongst Bilbo’s relatives in Buckland. And after Bilbo’s adventures and sudden reappearance only a year prior, he would certainly be a household name by now. The story of Old Took’s daughter demanding a smial to put all others to shame passed through every family like wildfire, as gossip was inclined to do here. Cori never imagined she would get to see the inside of such a renowned home, but here she stood in the front hall, gazing through the round doorways into rooms that seemed to stretch on forever. Oh, her siblings would be envious.

Books, trinkets, and chests overflowing with stuff lined the hallways, all neatly arranged in piles of knowledge. But this was not the usual hoard found in hobbits holes. Most of what lay about assuredly came from beyond the Brandywine, beyond Bree, even beyond the Misty Mountains. Cori recognized emblems and sigils on many of the things: most prominently, there were items from Dale and Erebor. For many years, she proudly held the title of traveling the farthest any hobbit ever dared to go. She had reached the Iron Hills by her thirtieth birthday, after all. Then, Bilbo just had to go on his little adventure with these exact same dwarves and challenge her standing. Oh, he still came up short by a good distance. But, in this particularly, they were bounded. There were rumors of Took blood in the Houndberry family somewhere far down the tree, but more than that, they shared knowledge of places not even the oldest hobbits here could boast. They were more alike than just having mutual friendships with very important dwarves.

“Disturbing, uncomfortable things, aren’t they?” She looked up from staring at a leather, weather-worn backpack staged next to a trunk. The dark eyes of Bilbo Baggins twinkled beneath a nest of curly gold hair. There was a slight twitch in his lips.

She giggled, nodding. “Yes, they sure are.”

The impressive pantry of Bag End was dented before the four dwarves and two hobbits settled down in the sitting room for their meal, but this time, Bilbo was more than happy to share his bounty, for there were not thirteen of them, and his stores were safe from complete annihilation.

“Don’t lie,” Kíli grumbled around a mouthful of fresh bread. His eyes had nearly rolled back into his head at the first bite. “If the entire company showed up on your doorstep right now, you wouldn’t even think twice about letting us all in. You love us, Bilbo. Just admit it already.”

The hobbit snorted. “Make no mistake, I would turn you all thirteen of you back down toward the Green Dragon for supper. You’re paying your own way. Now, if you needed someplace to sleep, that’s a different story. Just know it would be the exact same arrangement as last time.”

“It was a roof and walls,” Dwalin joined in. “More’n any of us had had for weeks at that point. We couldn’t _look for_ a better set-up if we tried.”

Clouds rolled over Hobbiton after a while and dumped an active afternoon thunderstorm on it, making the weary travelers that much more grateful for the shelter and warm hearth. As they ate, the brothers took the enthusiastic initiative to explain their presence in the West. Of course, Bilbo had put his ear to the ground about the orc mess surrounding the Shire and confessed to have had his newly-acquired weapons sharpened in preparation.

“Don’t know how much good it’ll do,” Dwalin grumbled around a piece of chicken. “Bein’ the only one here who knows how to use one.”

“Now, Master Dwalin,” Cori began with a mouth full of ham. She took a pause to swallow some of it down before leveling a hard, chagrined stare on the dwarf. “I would think, by now, after traveling with the _both_ of us for extended periods of time, that you would have learned a thing or two about hobbits. It seems, in fact, that you actually need a lesson, and don’t mind if I do. We get the job done when we need to. Things haven’t always been quiet here, you know. All parts of the Shire have a history of taking up arms. There’ve been hardships and dangers to cross into our borders, and yet here we are. Living life as the world floats on by. Just you watch, _sir._ We’ll be here long after dwarves have disappeared into the ground forever.”

Dwalin held up his hands. “Easy, lass.”

“I think that was a threat,” Fíli said, pointing a finger at her. “We should probably be looking out for a mess of hobbits in full armor marching on the mountain in the coming years, if I’m to take anything from _that._ ”

“Don’t be jumping to any hasty conclusions now. I know your secrets, dwarf.” She fixed a stare on him that left him shrinking away just a bit.

A strong arm slipped around her shoulders and pulled her back into a rumbling chest, propping her against the sofa they sat in front of. “Having hobbits as foes definitely wouldn’t end well for anyone. Especially when it’s this one.” One hand surreptitiously slipped down to her side between their bodies, and she flinched away from the surprisingly playful dwarf she had mixed herself with. “But for all your wits and stealth, orcs and Men outmatch you with strength and ferocity. Teaching your neighbors how to at least hold a sword may save lives.”

Bilbo shrugged helplessly. “Would if I could, but folk round here shy away from anything strange and foreign, and ever since I ran off with you, I’ve become the embodiment of strange. Very few would actually take up a sword, and not enough to be significant.”

“Head to Buckland,” Cori suggested. “Us ‘queer folk’ over there are taught early the basics, at least. And they won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. They’ll whip all these soft hobbits into shape real quick.” She thought of her family. Could it be that the shock of the news of the orcs that sent her fleeing into the south from her home could have spurred them into action as she asked them? Had Garth made any progress with her request? It would take full consensus of the people for something like a mass arming of the Shire to pass, so she would not be surprised if he had had no luck. But allies like Bilbo could help significantly. Maybe she could make some connections happen before she left here.

Bilbo snorted. “It’d take putting the fear of the Valar into these people to get them started, and that would only work to panic them.”

“Well, we need to think of something.” She chewed on her bottom lips until the skin peeled away. “We’re running out of time.”

“Patience, darling,” Thorin murmured into her ear. “Once Arin’s army arrives, we will see to this threat. If that goes well, the hobbits may be able to continue on blissfully unaware. Like you told me, one day at a time.”

 _Until the next threat,_ she thought bitterly, absently leaning her head on his shoulder as the uncomfortable thoughts swirled around. Then she remembered where she was and jerked her head back up. Much too late.

Four sets of amused eyes stared them down with sparkling delight and pleasant amazement.

“So, uh…” Bilbo began, gesturing sporadically in their direction. “When did _this_ happen?”

Cori’s cheeks burned, doing her best to combat it and glare at the three smirks she received in the meanwhile. Good thing they decided not to keep it a secret because there went that idea in a swift wind of her own destructive whimsicality. “Not long ago.”

Dwalin’s snort echoed. “Excessively overdue.”

“You hush,” she pouted.

“Partly in thanks to you, Master Baggins,” Thorin grinned.

Bilbo’s eyes rounded. “Me?”

“The friendship you and I share awoke in me a curiosity about hobbits. Had I never met you and realized the true admirable qualities that lie within your kind, I most likely would not have given her a second glance. Now, that is a most painful thought to consider. You have my gratitude.”

Cori had no idea what to do: stare up at him in wonder with all the love and adoration she felt for this dwarf on display for all to see, or show said sentiments by snuggling back into his side once again. She chose the former; that way, it was easier to control the tears stinging her eyes.

“Oh.” Bilbo blinked, struck by the look Thorin sent to the blushing lass tucked under his arm. “Well, I…I’m certainly happy to hear that. Surprised, I might say. I guess congratulations are in order.”

“I know what I’m gifting them,” Dwalin announced, still boasting his smug yet approving smirk. “A calendar.”

“All right, that’s just about enough out of you.” Cori made to launch herself off the floor and at the stationary dwarf watching her with amusement, yet her progress was hindered by an arm reaching up to drag her back by the waist this time. She ended up plopping into Thorin’s lap this time, latched securely in place by his solid arms.

“There will be no maiming of my kin tonight, I think.” He only stared fondly at her exaggerated pout, meaning she heavily lacked the charm he possessed that usually persuaded her to do whatever he said around camp. Disappointing.

Once she drew out her game long enough, Cori took up the storytelling mantle, courtesy of the brothers’ insistence. Apparently, she had the broadest, most interesting viewpoint of the skirmish by the river going all the way to their roadside rescue. Thorin filled in where his condition was concerned, brushing off any need for medicine as all his wounds seemed past the point of infection (they would have to be pretty nasty to actually cause a dwarf any notable affliction). Bilbo was equal parts fascinated and alarmed, disturbed by having such a malicious group of Men so close to his home. For all its hard-edged and coarse people, even Bree was a relatively harmless place compared to this Overton. “Never heard of that town.”

“You’d be the exception if you had,” Kíli commented.

“They are Ryone’s followers for sure,” Cori mused. “They are a blend of people from Rohan and Gondor, if I’m even remotely qualified to distinguish their appearances. So Gandalf was right about them being rogue outcasts from their homelands. But there were parts of that town that seemed old—ancient, even. Time could only have made it look like that. How is that possible if this group has only been around for a little more than a year?”

“Annúminas lies nearby, flush with the Lake Evendim.” Thorin stared contemplatively into the fire, mind whirling. “It is a long-abandoned Númenórean city that was left to crumble through the ages. I would imagine it possible that those people spread out toward the river as well.”

Fíli jerked his head up. “Annúminas! Do you think that’s where his stronghold is?”

“I’d gamble on it, lad,” Dwalin replied. “I hardly think they’d set up camp in the middle ‘o nowhere when they got a fortress at their disposal. The former occupants must be rolling over in their graves.”

“So you’ve got a bit of a heading,” Bilbo recapped, settling back in his armchair after refilling his cup of tea. “What’s the plan now?”

Thorin sipped his ale. “We have an army from a settlement in the mountains west of here on the way, if our message reached them. We will meet up with them when they pass by and pay a visit to our genocidal psychopath.”

“I’ll join you…”

He shook his head. “I caused you enough suffering only two years ago. You truly do not want to, I can tell, and there is no blame on you for that.”

Bilbo grinned sheepishly. “I need to guard the place anyway. From orcs or grabby Sackville-Bagginses either way. Well, you are more than welcome to stay as long as you like. Cori and I can run down to the market and gather travel supplies and food. News of dwarves staying in the Shire once again will spread if you’re seen down there, which I doubt will be beneficial to your ‘laying low’ strategy at the moment. That is, if you haven’t already been seen.”

“We have plenty of coin to pay for it all,” Fíli said, setting his empty bowl of stew aside. “A little less now, since Thorin’s was taken, but we’ve still much to spare.”

“Nonsense. I had more than I know what to do with even before your parting gift from the last time I saw you. I’m helping you out, and that’s all there is to it.”

“Thank you, Bilbo.” Thorin and the hobbit exchanged understanding smiles.

Cori and the dwarves declined supper after indulging in quite a bit more food for dinner. With shrunken stomachs from at most two meals a day, it was all they could handle. Of course, they joined Bilbo at the table with mugs of ale while he dined on his additional meal for the day, reminiscing their journeys together. Cori was amused by the different perspective Bilbo offered. Verbal spars ensued between him and Dwalin about who was responsible for what ill fortune that befell them. The helpless bystanders just sat and laughed until their bellies ached. When dark fell completely, they all retired to their own rooms in the vast maze of Bag End, wishing their host a good night.

One look at her bed put a smile on Cori’s face. _Finally._ Slipping out of her trousers and into a long blouse that hung off her shoulders when she left the buttons at the collar undone, she sifted through her bag to start laying out all her clothes with the intention of washing them while she was here.

Oh, fiddlesticks.

Had she really done that? How muddled was her mind that morning?

At the bottom of her bag was a familiar blue tunic. The one Thorin gave her that night they spent by the river. Upon impulse, she put it to her nose. The smell was faint, but she recognized it. Pine, iron, and smoke. How shocking. Yet, no matter how predictable it was that he constantly smelled like a forge, she found it suited him the most. He was a blacksmith. In line with his observation about her caring little for his kingly status (he had hit the nail on the head), she appreciated that he knew what it was like to be at her level. He was humble and respectful to all. _That_ was what drew her to him so fervently.

She stared down at the piece of clothing after realizing she stood in the middle of room molesting it while Thorin was tunicless. No more wandering around in rags for the king. Of course, there was always the option of holding onto it and forcing him to walk around in nothing, an idea she staunchly approved of. As if she would actually get any sleep with that on her mind. While the coolness of the smial during the night would most definitely affect him not at all, she wanted to make some kind of effort to take care of him.

Bundling the tunic into her arms, she exited her room and ambled down the hall a short ways until she reached his door. Eyeing the end of the tunnel for anyone also intent on interrupting his private time, she softly tapped her knuckle against the door.

“Come in.”

The door squeaked when she opened it, and thank the Giver she was no longer a blushing maiden with a timid heart, because she would have made the exact same noise. As his hands were dipped into a small basin of water, he was clearly finishing up a quick wash. Droplets covered his neck, shoulders, and chest, wetting the hair on his torso and the mane tumbling down his head. The lines of moisture traced the ink all over his skin. And as he stood there before her, bare in nothing but trousers, she realized that sleep would be a hopeless endeavor tonight indeed. “Special delivery.” She leaned back against the door, thoroughly examining the art in front of her.

He smiled when he noticed what she carried. Then the gesture melted into a lewd study, and she remembered she walked out of her room with only a thin tunic to cover her. “You can keep it.”

“And have to explain what prompted me to have your clothes in my bag in the first place? I’m sure they’re thinking the most scandalous things after that stunt you pulled in there.” She pushed off the door, languidly approaching him. After all, there was a lot to take in, and she would rather not be rushed.

His eyes grew darker as he followed her movements, taking the tunic when she offered it. “Do you wish that we sneak around like forbidden lovers?”

She shrugged. “I don’t want to lay it on heavily.”

“As I said before, they’ve known for some time. I have.”

She cocked a brow. “What?”

He stepped forward, swallowing any distance left between them with his hulking presence. A large palm lifted to curve around the back of her neck, fingers threading through the stray curls escaping her braid on the way. “You were not subtle with your advances, dear one. I could tell you were interested. It was just a matter of deciding what exactly you wanted from me.” He bent down to peck her lips with sugar sweetness.

She blinked. He knew. The clod knew she fancied him _all this time_? “And what did you think I wanted?”

His cheeks took on a rosy tint, but the smirk stayed. “At the least, I hoped for a night with you. But you weren’t bold, so I chose not to assume. Your friendship was worth more than that, so I wasn’t inclined to put that on the line if you became offended.”

All those weeks she spent in guilt about ogling him, and he had been fantasizing about laying with _her_. What an incredible waste of time. “ _I_ was afraid of crossing the line. You’re the one with a reputation to uphold here.”

This thumb stroked her cheek. “If being with the one I care for devastates my integrity, let it be tarnished.”

She had no idea what exactly caused her to lean forward and fall into his embrace. It could have been the honesty of his words and his complete disregard for what courting a halfling would do to his respectability in the eyes of his people. Or it could have been the tenderness of this brawny dwarf, an unexpected twist she found most pleasing when in contrast to the lethal warrior she witnessed just days ago. Either way, it ravished her heart ruthlessly, and she hid from it in his chest for a moment.

When she pulled away, she fixed a knowing grin on him. “So I suppose that was what drinking the kegs at Bree dry was about? Your carnal frustrations?”

He bowed his head reluctantly. “I’m afraid so.”

She giggled, giddy beyond compare that she had driven a _dwarf_ to drink more than he could handle. “At any rate,” she continued as he slipped away to toss his tunic aside and dumped another handful of water over his hair, “I’d appreciate it if you refrained from doing what you did tonight with anyone other than kin.”

He chuckled, drying off a bit, much to the dismay of the tightening knot in her belly. “Why ever did you say a word to me if you weren’t prepared to have all eyes on you?”

“Indulge me, would you? I’ve only just now realized exactly _who_ I’m dallying with here. This is going to take some getting used to.”

“It seems I’ve dived into a relationship with a recluse.”

“Hey, now! I meet many people in my travels, thank you very much. And I talk to all of them. Except when they’re dwarves, but they hardly ever talk to me anyway. Go right ahead, if you want! I don’t think anyone will believe you anyway.”

Before she could step away, two hands clasped over her cheeks and held her firmly against the scruff-lined lips that were so warm and intoxicating. How humiliating to be at the mercy of such a trifling thing. But when he pulled away, all fight had left her. She was powerless against those lips when one side curled up just so. “There would be no question, were they to see that.” He stepped away once more, taking the bowl to dump it out the window. “Would be an effective deterrent for any rash hobbit lads.”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately? And you’ve obviously never met a green hobbit boy just dipping his feet into romance. There would be no ‘sweeping.’”

“You make an impression. Someone out there has dreamt of wild curls and a fiery temper.”

Now that thought made her nigh on nauseous. She would absolutely not appreciate being fuel for a tween’s raging hormones. “Then you grossly misinterpret what hobbit fantasies consist of. I’ve never been more than an experiment in the bushes behind the tavern.”

His eyes flashed sharply. “Oh?”

“Come to think of it, I believe the first time was here, at the Green Dragon, more precisely. But there was a bed, if I remember correctly.”

Something dark hooded his face, though she felt no fear from it. He loomed over her, his arm gingerly slipping around her waist and pulling her close to him. Whatever swirled around in his gaze was not aimed at her. A jealous dwarf. Imagine that. “Then I have much cause to be concerned while we’re here.”

She scoffed. “They’d be married with children by now. And as respectable grown hobbits, they wouldn’t even consider such a scandal as tumbling with the wayward Houndberry girl.”

He leant down, barely tasting her lips before hovering just far enough away for their noses to brush. “It is hard to stay away after you’ve had it once.”

The room swayed, but she felt the heat in her blood spark like kindling. “Had a few get pouty when I told them to piss off afterward. They get the message when you make it clear.”

He chuckled. “And they thought they could handle you?”

She raised her eyes to his and took a leap. “Can you?”

Within a moment, her lips pressed firmly to his. A strong arm looped around her ribs, trapping her against him, while the other one worked at loosening the hasty braid trailing down her back. His fingers raked through her thick, dark hair, slowly, savoring the softness. The tug on her scalp pulled a moan from her. A fire quickly spread throughout her whole body, engulfing her in such intense heat that she could barely remember where they were. Challenge accepted. Then his hand around her body slid lower, and she gasped from the firm squeeze he gave her. Wasting not a second, he delved into her mouth with an explorative tongue. She tried to return in kind, but he easily kept the lead just out of her reach. She had never ached with need quite so much as this before.

She lurched away from him, taking in a gulp of air as one would coming out of water. It took her a moment to think of her name, and his, and why that bed across the way looked so empty. “All right,” she panted. “Now I’m worried.”

He guffawed, looking many years younger than he had only a short while ago. It was the smile, certainly. “Why’s that?”

“There were dwarf ladies, I’m sure. Bearded beauties who managed to catch the attention of their king. That’s a little more disconcerting competition than a lanky lad in overalls.” And now a jealous hobbit stood in the room.

“I assure you a great deal of time has passed.”

“You were memorable, no doubt.” If _that_ was the trick that got them into bed in the first place…

“Quite the compliment, for one who cannot speak from experience.”

Wicked, wicked dwarf. “If given the chance.”

“What are you waiting for?”

Something that would tell her all of this was a bad idea. But right now, her future was looking shorter by the day. There was no room to be leaving doubts on the table.

Lunging toward him, she grabbed a fistful of his hair and resumed where they left off. She pushed steadily against his chest, nails digging into the firm flesh of his pecs. His body convulsed, and he relented in a step back. With his guard down, he pliantly bent beneath her forward advances. However, his hands gripped her waist unwaveringly: potential desire to regain the upper hand. Cori felt pleasurable tingles trail up and down her spine like fingertips. Oh, this would be fun.

Startling both of them, his back hit the wooden wall next to the window. When had they moved so far? Cori playfully bit his lower lip. He groaned, fisting a hand in her hair and pulling back until her nose pointed to the ceiling. With heavy breaths, he sought the curve of her neck, returning her nip with one of his own. She gasped, hands curling where they rested on his sides. She was not quite ready to hand over command just yet. One hand slid down his body and blindly fumbled for the laces of his trousers. At first, her aim was off, brushing just below the ties. _Oh, my._ He twitched and grunted, biting down just a little too hard. He soothed the red spot with a tender kiss. Finally finding what she sought, she gave the laces a decisive tug, feeling the clothing slip just a little lower on his hips.

A chuckle rumbled through his chest. “I see I have my answer.”

She gripped his chin between her thumb and fingers, pulling his lips briefly back to hers with bruising intensity. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Where do you wish to take this, _amrâlimê_?” His warm breath ghosted over her lips, long nose nuzzling the crease in her cheek.

 _Isn’t that obvious_? Her muddled brain managed one inciting thought, though. He was being mannerly. Somehow, she knew he was generally that kind of a lover, and that made her fall just a little bit more.

Reaching up on her toes to give him a subdued kiss, she whispered, “To that bed, Your Majesty.”

He smirked with near boyish excitement, though the voice that answered her would be found on no boy. “As my lady commands.” Bending before her as if preparing to kneel, he took the ends of her tunic and pulled it over her head with surprising dexterity. It was carelessly tossed aside, forgotten immediately as his eyes found a much more appeasing sight. She stood awed beneath the pure lust rising within his smoldering gaze, reaching up to press kisses and nibbles to the underside of his jaw where his beard stopped. He hummed appreciatively, curving both hands around her bum with deliberate slowness. The rasp of his callouses sent shivers across her skin. She trailed a hand down his torso in return, grinning at the stuttering muscles beneath her fingertips. She stopped just above his trousers.

“You know,” she whispered, “I’ve wondered for a while now how far down the tail went.” She traced the feathers of the raven on his torso, nails scraping through the thick hair over it.

A sinful smirk lifted the corner of his mouth as he watched her finger. “You are welcome to find out.”

Grabbing the waistband of his trousers, she pushed them down over his hips until they were loose enough to slide the rest of the way down. He snarled at the friction and ground into her belly.

 _Oh, Giver, help me._ There might be too much dwarf here for her to handle. Then she focused on the sweet busses playing along her cheek and jaw, eventually finding her lips in a gentle but passionate caress. No, she had this in the bag.

Passing her fingers once more through his dark locks, she tightened her arms around his neck. Barely giving him a moment to act, she jumped up and clamped her legs onto his hips. He caught her with little effort, laughing jubilantly. “ _Khajimele,_ ” he whispered, holding her securely as he walked toward the bed. Slowly, he set her down on the soft quilt. Leaning over her, he peppered her chest with kisses, curving around to her shoulders as his warm hands roamed up her legs. She took the liberty of doing her own wandering. Nearly everywhere her hands went, they passed over a scar: circular bumps across his abdomen (could that be warg’s teeth?), two fresher punctures just beneath his ribs, and many more lines across his back of varying thickness. He was a walking timeline of his people’s adversities. A rugged, hardened warrior of legend. And he was worshiping her like she was made of glass.

“You have a pleasant touch, _âzyungâl_.” She shivered at the way his tongue wrapped around that word. Maybe she was much too enthralled with his voice. “Smooth. It brings relief.”

She tensed when his hand traveled slowly up her thigh, gasping as his thumb found her yearning core and caressed it in lazy circles. “You have a touch yourself, Your Majesty. Though I find ‘pleasant’ a little deficient and mild.”

He hummed into her neck, nipping at her racing pulse. “Enjoyable nonetheless, I hope.”

“It would be if you used it properly.”

His chuckle somehow descended into her belly. She jerked as the index of his occupied hand slipped into her welcoming heat, and he smirked. “Like this?”

“Thorin.” Whining. She was actually whining. He truly was sending her into madness.

“Such impatience,” he growled. And yet, he settled comfortably between her legs, then _finally._

Every word ceased in her mouth, and she dug her heels into the base of his spine. All her nerves sparkled like lightning through her body. There was a tiny pinch; it had been a few years, and he was hardly lacking. But the immense pleasure engulfed it. He heaped kisses on her neck and below it, but as he moved just a little more, he paused, breath hissing out through gritted teeth. She peaked just once, feeling her heart clench when she saw the overwhelming ecstasy so clear on his face. She clasped her hands over his cheeks, bringing him back to her. Soft, slow kisses melted one into another, and they both groaned as two entirely became one.

“Thorin,” she keened, hands curling around his impressive shoulders. Oh, she adored his mass.

“Cori,” he whispered back, languidly moving his hips. They both gasped. “I love you,” he mumbled into her shoulder, lips pressing harder for a sturdy kiss. “Oh, I love you.”

She let out a choked sound, momentarily crushed by the weight of her imperfections and vices. But complete rapture shot through her body, and affection consumed her until she thought she might drown in it. Then nothing mattered except his words and the tenderness of his touch. There was nothing beyond this.

Suddenly, he thrust hard, moving her up the blanket, and there was no room for doubt when he filled every inch of her being.

Cori had never pleaded so much in her life, but if it had to be for something, make it this. The sensations were hot and blinding, and the thin thread that her composure hung by strained. He was in tune with every response she made, adjusting to something new whenever she became too comfortable. It was maddening. And he was excellent. She dragged her nails down his back, squeezing her knees into his sides. Stars already bloomed in her vision, and she feared she would pass out.

Thorin murmured low, sweet nothings into her ear, grasping her by the waist with bruising force. Then coherence left him as he drew closer, words melding into grunts stifled by her lips. She felt him shuddering, then the world turned white.

It was an incredible flood of fire and ardour. All that remained was love, love for this dwarf crying out as he found the height of his pleasure with her. She loved him. It seemed so simple, so logical, and if not that, she would not care. He was what she needed.

The heavy heap of satisfied king fell on top of her, incasing her in scorching heat. She embraced it, curling her shaking arms around his head and keeping him cradled in her chest. She did not allow him to move until their breaths evened out and they came back to the world. The brush of his beard across her chest erupted aftershocks of tingles all across her skin, accentuating the pulsing between her thighs. Then she remembered that he had not left her body, and her desire awoke anew.

He chuckled weakly when she tightened her legs around his hips. “This old dwarf needs a moment, lass.”

“What happened to the famous stamina of the Khazâd?” She gasped when she felt him come to life within her.

“It is there, if you can’t tell.” Then he raised his head, the thick mane of hair moving out of his face as he looked up into her eyes. “I wish to be sentimental and take note of the moment. I have never been with someone I loved, and I find the experience worth remembering.”

She wanted to cry, bawl, and just completely lose herself in the rawness of those crisp blues. He was open before her, laying out everything for her to see, and she never felt so worthy beneath a gaze as she did this one.

Biting her lip, she reached up and cupped a hand to his cheek. “I love you, Thorin.”

That remarkable smile was just for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> amrâlimê: my love  
> khajimele: my gift  
> âzyungâl: lover
> 
> Yay.  
> So love scenes aren't my thing. Love them, but I don't have much practice, so they don't flow well. But I hope this was sufficient. I did have fun. Not as much fun as them. ;D  
> Love you guys! <3


	25. Shire Days

She never in her life slept so deeply.

The rise from slumber was sluggish and reluctant, drawn back by a team of plow ponies through rain-soaked, tilled earth. Attached to a boulder. Cori would recognize a bed of hobbit make anywhere, and the soft threading of a patchwork quilt over her bare skin and woven between her legs. Only a smial could trap heat like this; a small flame within the fireplace, recently tended to, filled the room with the quaint comfort of home. Complete with another body to warm her back.

It was dark still, barely a dim peep of first light making it through the window, and she suddenly felt the call to make use of what remained of the best night of her life. Ignoring the deep, almost pleasant soreness in her center, she let the sweet sensations of arousal heighten and rolled over. Thorin breathed evenly, long nose pushed into the pillow just a little. The quilt only rested on his lower half, and the deft toe of her left foot pushed it down to his ankles. She reached down and, with one firm touch to his flesh, elicited a sound akin to a grunt from him. His face twitched, fist next to the pillow slowly closing over the sheets.

Suddenly feeling a little more explorative, Cori dug her knee into his stomach and pushed. As soon as he began to twist on his back, his eyes flickered open and settled on her. She straddled him before he became completely aware of what had happened, but even then, he gave no resistance. Grabbing a wrist in each hand and laying them above his head, she took him into her with suspenseful slowness. His breath hitched, jaw clenched with a visible jump in the tendon below his ear. Then he released the air with a loud groan and relaxed into the mattress.

She had never felt such fulfillment. No skinny hobbit lad could ever compare. It was almost uncomfortable, but a night of lechery saw her small body willing; she had no idea how she had managed three bouts in a row, but his confidence and experience saw her ruined by midnight. In turn, she increased in self-assurance and knowledge of him, and he made it perfectly clear that he enjoyed her close attention. And now, she sat atop him, pinning him down and guiding them steadily toward that bliss.

“Not even a good morning?” he panted, enraptured by her movements. Excitement swirled in his darkened eyes.

“This is a good morning,” she replied, listening to the humming of her blood. Her head tipped forward, nearly resting on his chest. When he started moving with her, she could not resist a moan.

“Indeed it is.”

One thing about their position drove her mad: he had not tried to take her control. He remained slack in the sheets, trusting her with his body. He even let her keep hold of his hands. She was no fool; it was more faith than she could ever reasonably ask for. The reward entailed bearing witness to his face in his most vulnerable moment, and how gratifying it was. His eyes were closed, lost as she was in their shared pleasure, and his lips parted just a little. Each time she sank on him, a quiet grunt left him. It was almost too much, seeing him sprawled out at her mercy.

Soon, the familiar tightness in her belly grew and, ever the studious learner, Thorin took the cue. In her distraction, he easily wrenched his hands free and buried them in the mop of brown hair dangling over his chest. With the leverage, he gently tilted her face up toward his again and drew her in for a long, toe-curling kiss. One hand traveled down her side to firmly cup a cheek (he seemed quite fascinated with it), then it curved inward to brush over the bundle of nerves buried in the coarse curls just as he drove hard into her. She squealed into his mouth and gave in to her release. Her eyes flew open, biting her lip to stifle the desperate moans tumbling from her mouth. Then she slumped onto his chest, pliable as clay for him to do as he pleased.

He growled, grasping her thighs and frenziedly seeking his own pleasure. Quickly, he followed after her with a raspy exhale, curling a strong arm around her and holding her to his heaving chest. They lay in a hot, panting heap, waiting for the stars to dance away.

Cori nuzzled into his skin, grinning like a loon as his other hand stroked her knee next to his hip. His breath ghosted over her ear, then he pressed his lips to the pointed shell. “ _Kurdu,_ ” he whispered, and she did not have to know what it meant to feel its tenderness. There were many Khuzdul words he had uttered throughout the night that she would have to inquire about later; it seemed the dwarf king lost control of his tongue when all his faculties were out of commission. She nipped his jaw in return, giggling when she felt him twitch inside her. Once she slid off his burning body and nestled against his side, they lay quiet for a time, listening to the chirping birds awakening from the night outside. It was peace, such beautiful peace.

“You know, I’ve never been taken like that before,” he said softly, the timbre of his voice fitting right in with the stillness of the room. “No one ever dared.”

She flew too high to think that maybe this was a scolding. Give it a few minutes and she would be absolutely mortified with herself. “Oops.”

“Apparently others had the same idea, though made more use of foresight.”

She lifted her head a little, trying to peer into his face. “But…”

“ _Zi amsumul._ ”

“Westron, love. I’m a little frazzled here.”

He chuckled, the glorious sound rumbling beneath her cheek. “Put these insecurities aside. There is no comparison; you have devastated me.”

Her lips curled in frivolous happiness. She had never been complimented on her lovemaking. Of course, it had not actually been lovemaking before him.

She tossed a leg over him and settled comfortably on his belly. It was chaste, though; there could not possibly be another round left in her. He thought _he_ was devastated. “What insecurities? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He grinned knowingly, though his sated laziness stifled the teasing effect.

She splayed her hands over his chest, dragging her fingers through the dark hair trailing all the way down his abdomen. This had to be some kind of unhealthy addiction to his muscles; he was delectable. “What do they mean?” she asked, tracing the inked bands around his upper arms.

He took one of her hands and kissed the palm. “A plethora of things.” He glanced over toward his right arm. “Symbols of family. My grandparents, my parents, siblings, nephews. Each rune represents one person.” Then his left arm. “Durin’s line and my place within my clan. That larger one is the symbol of the Longbeards. The rest are a few of the kings before me.”

“And the one on your back? The ink looks fresher on it.” _Which is now probably split several different ways with scratches. My bad._

“Erebor. I commissioned it after we reestablished ourselves in the mountain. The year, and a small tribute to the company.”

His greatest accomplishment. It was no wonder he chose to brand it into his skin. But, just like him, he pushed all the glory onto those who accompanied him rather than keep it all for himself when lesser men have easily done just that all throughout history. Thorin Oakenshield is not lesser in any way, and so, on top of everything else that defied expectation, he managed to also gain the affections of a hobbit.

Cori just made love to this renowned, peerless, possibly immortalized figure, and she would be a damned idiot if that held no significance to her whatsoever. “I’m a very tiny person.”

He tilted his head in that charming way of his. “Yes, you are, _khajimele._ Care to elaborate?”

“I just remembered you are actually a king.”

He paused in his mesmerized study of her, his merry expression falling just a little. “I did not need the reminder.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know what you told me, Thorin. That you prefer my companionship because you don’t have to think about that. But you have to understand my perspective. That is who you are. You are the direct descendent of a line of kings running back _ages._ You wield the Arkenstone, which unites every dwarf in Middle-earth under your command. None of that defines you; not titles or inherent responsibilities or past grievances done by your forefathers. But it’s a part of you. So you’ll have to forgive me if I’m still somewhat flabbergasted at the idea of lying in bed with an incredibly powerful person.”

He grinned, lifting a hand to brush some hair behind her ear. “You’re right. It is who I am, whether I want it or not, and I have accepted that. But that does not affect how I view you. I am not superior to you in any way.”

Her eyes cast downward of their own accord. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you alluded to it. You are not naïve, darling. You care not for such things, but you give others who do respect and the chance to have their own opinions. I’m sure, at the beginning of our journey, you had many words for me that you held back for the sake of my soldiers. You are aware of the place society has put you. But I will turn this back around to you and warn you not to let it define you either.”

He was incredibly perceptive. And he dashed away all her predeterminations of dwarven obtuseness. Just let the excellent qualities keep coming.

“Let me hear you say it, Cori,” he commanded softly.

She nodded. “I’ll try.”

“Good enough. Now, no more banal talk.” He grasped her by the waist and rolled them over until she lay on her back and he halfway atop her. “Let me run away from my duties for a little while longer.”   

“I suppose even kings need a place to lay their heads down after a long day.”

He hummed, his body free of tension.

Her eyes flickered toward the window and the small glare of sun on it. “They’ll be up,” she whispered against his lips, making no move in line with her words to untangle herself from him.

“And?” He peppered her chest with kisses, smirking at her flinch when his tongue caught a nipple.

“And you’re going to keep a hobbit from breakfast?”

“Mm.” He rose up on both arms above her. “You’re right. You must be famished.”

“As a matter of fact, I am.” She hardly thought she needed to validate what he insinuated, though it was absolutely true. Keeping up with the dwarven libido was hard work indeed. She pushed against his shoulders, kicking away the quilt and rising from the bed to clean up. Could she sneak across the hall to her own room to find something appropriate before anyone saw? If the door did not squeak on her way out. There would be no unnecessary, quick movements for a while anyway; she hissed under her breath at the sting between her legs. Maybe her “good morning” had not been a wise idea after all.

“It is your own fault.” At his teasing voice, she turned back to him, subconsciously running her gaze across every inch of his body. What more could she do when he was splayed out on the bed like that, just for her to feast on? But his chiding look cooled her blood. “You initiated the last two, insatiable woman.”

It seemed she walked a little too gingerly, judging by the concern deep in his eyes. “You’re going to blame me when I’m presented with such temptation, all mine to explore?”

His sultry grin almost made her chuck the tunic in her hand to the floor and pounce him once again, just as he had accused her of. He rose up from the mess of blankets and pillows and strode toward her. With a ginger touch to her waist, he turned her around and embraced her from behind. His hairy chin lay atop her shoulder, tickling the sensitive skin below her ear. “I will make it up to you. Whatever you wish, to soothe the aches.”

“Mm.” She leaned back against him. “That sounds nice. Just don’t forget something.” She twisted around, slipping her arms beneath his heavy locks and guiding him to her lips for a long, slow kiss. “I am not a glass vase.” And if he tempered his vehemence because it left her a little tender, she would make her displeasure blatantly clear.

“No, but you are not a dwarf.”

“I’m something even better. I’m your hobbit.” She pecked him one last time before throwing her blouse over her head and making for the door. Her face split with a wide smile when she caught his words just as she opened it.

“And I am blessed.”

Upon arriving from her abandoned room to the occupied breakfast table, fully dressed for the day, Cori found she was the first of the two to arrive. Bilbo and the three other dwarves chatted among themselves, digging into a heaping display of bacon, toast, eggs, and an array of other tasty morsels so often found at second breakfast. Her stomach let her and everyone else in the room know it missed such meals as she took a plate and piled it high.

“Morning.” Fíli smiled at her, jumping in without missing a beat to steal a sausage. He only chuckled at the murder in her glare. “You slept in quite a while.”

Not…necessarily. “Most comfortable bed I’ve had since I went home back in February. I wasn’t passing up a spare moment in it, even if I did miss first breakfast.” She did her best to avoid Bilbo’s gaze without making it obvious that she was doing so. Hindsight was a real kicker. Had she and Thorin really taken the initiative to christen their friend’s bed in a manner it may never have seen before, in his own home, as his guests? Even for one who normally tossed propriety to the wind, that was pretty brash.

“I second that,” Kíli mumbled around a bite of toast. “The last time we were here, I laid claim to a nice spot on the floor in the parlor. Had to give up any furniture to the elderly, Thorin said. I’m glad to finally have any kind of mattress under me, even if I had to share said mattress with _this._ ” He eyed the blond dwarf beside him, laughing when Fíli flicked a piece of bacon at him.

“Even the floor sounds good right now,” Dwalin said around his cup of ale. He put his attention on Bilbo. “You set Thorin up with your best bed, Master Hobbit? He’s never slept in this late a day in his life.”

“No better than yours. But from what I’ve heard about your most recent encounters, I’d say he’s more inclined to a longer sleep. Can’t imagine he got much in his prison cell.”

“We’ve had a rattling couple of days.” Cori was powerless to stop Dwalin reaching over to his right to snag a piece of bacon from her plate. She threw her hands up. “Why does everyone want _my_ food so much when there’s more right in front of you?”

“You’ve been cookin’ for us for months, lass. Don’t think we haven’t noticed that anything you touch seems to gain the quality o’ edible gold. Just making sure we ain’t missin’ out on anything.” He popped the strip into his mouth, chewing thoroughly. “Good, aye, but definitely not enchanted.”

“‘Rite of friendship,’ I was told,” Bilbo said with a half-hearted sneer at the dwarves. “Did they tell you about it, Cori? One of the first things they made sure I knew about them. And one of the only things, it turned out.”

“You can hold quite the grudge, Master Baggins.” Thorin ducked below the round doorframe, taking a seat on a stool beside Cori. He was in the tunic she gave him the night before, though he still had his ripped trousers. Acquiring a knife and butter, he offered her a smile…before taking the last slice of toast from her shrinking helping. She just let her head drop to the table with a clatter of dishwear.

“It’s not just me,” Bilbo replied, grinning at the other hobbit stewing beneath her hair. “You dwarves liked to prattle on about the importance of your food, but you think meddling with a hobbit’s is a good idea? A wonderful start to that relationship, you’re making, Thorin.”

Cori could have hopped up and kissed him, particularly with the object of her latest lapse in judgment in full view, just because she could be spiteful. Once the chorus of chuckles made it around the room, she lifted her head only to find the toast back on her plate, a golden later of butter covering it evenly. She kicked his ankle beneath the tabletop, ignoring his smirk.

The group finished off the rest of what was available for breakfast without a struggle, the dwarves offering to help with dishes even when Bilbo protested _loudly._ Cori blinked in surprise. “Don’t ask,” he muttered to her, padding off toward the kitchen to begin the process of tearing down their meal.

“It won’t happen again, Bilbo,” Fíli called with a devilish countenance to contradict his words. “We promise we’ll be good about it this time.”

“And what happened last time?” Thorin inquired, taking in their sudden silence with wariness.

The brothers shared a cautious glance, probably wondering if they would get a scolding about behavior befitting princes of Durin, again.

“One of our many games had at the hobbit’s expense,” Dwalin interceded, smirking boldly. “You were _almost_ there, Thorin. If you’d wandering the pathways of the Shire just a minute less, you would’ve had a share in the fun.”

“I recall hearing singing and laughing when I walked up to the door. I suppose Bilbo’s exasperation after I entered the home was prevenient.”

Bilbo’s voice carried from some other part of the smial. “It began when you lot first darkened my doorway.”

“Aw, Bilbo, you don’t mean that.” Kíli was a tiny quirk of his lip away from pouting. After narrowly avoiding a lecture, he seemed keen to align himself just right for his uncle’s approval. “Are you going to tell us you regret running out of here like a madman with not even a handkerchief?”

That was it. Cori would be cornering the hobbit in his own home at some point during their stay, taking her time to pull every little bit of information about the Quest from him as thoroughly as possible. It seemed an event worth seeing from every angle imaginable. She would probably find several repeats of her own grievances, and they would most likely end up reminiscing together with fond irritation.

“When would you like those supplies, Thorin?” Bilbo inquired after a few minutes of scrubbing dishes. He had poured himself another spot of tea, because he could obviously afford to do so, keeping an eye on the dwarves as they tried to explore his vast collection of books and trinkets without touching anything.

“We sent word to our kin a couple weeks ago, and if I’m to assume they are on the way, we’ve no idea when they will pass by here. It would be wise to be prepared as soon as possible.”

The hobbit bobbed his head. “All right. We can see to it. Cori, are you joining me?”

It had not hit yesterday, when he volunteered himself and her to go shopping for the dwarves, what exactly that would mean. She had been tired, for certain, and undoubtedly lost in Thorin’s dazzling eyes for the remainder of the evening. However, now she realized. Shire market. Crowds of folks selling their wares. Children playing. Good food passing around. Oh, she missed market day. “I think I will.”

As she gathered up some of the hides in a sack, hopeful that she might fetch a pretty coin from a tailor who thought they might be able to do something with rabbit fur, Thorin approached Bilbo and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Once again, I’m grateful for your help here. Things have not gone as we planned, but being able to refresh here is a kindness I will not forget.”

Bilbo scoffed. “When have things ever gone as planned?”

“True,” Thorin chuckled. “Still, you’ve saved my kin and I from misfortune numerously, and I can never come close to repaying you the way you deserve. I seem to only bring you suffering.” His expression hid a deeper sorrow, a long-festered pain that still bled, and Cori paused to regard him with concern.

“Now, Thorin.” Bilbo’s voice dropped. “I don’t want to see you beating yourself up over water under the bridge. Haven’t we made peace over that?”

“I suppose. But…”

“Nope! You don’t get to do that. I’ve forgiven you, as I hope you’ve forgiven me, for that little slight of ours. And that is the end of it.”

He sighed, glancing toward his feet once before nodding. “You’re right. Our past misdealing was managed. I would like to move on. If ever there is anything you need, even though you seem to be keeping yourself agreeably here, please don’t hesitate to call on me. It is no more than you deserve.”

“That I will, just so long as you don’t stay a stranger. Send me word. Get everyone else to send me word. I want to know what you’re all up to, nosy as the notion is.”

Thorin laughed. “Nosy would require you to be unwelcome. You are not. Of course we will keep in touch.”

Cori watched as the two embraced, smiling to herself. There was something about the way they interacted that left her stumped, something she could not put a name to. It was a special understanding, a certain love reserved for a lucky few. One in her position might feel jealous, but she felt there was no need for such triviality. No matter her curiosity at what had happened to bring a dwarf and a hobbit together in such a way, she would not intrude. According to Thorin, she should be grateful. She had Bilbo to thank for Thorin ever giving her the time of day to begin with, let alone consider her as a mate.

Once they parted, Cori approached him, eyeing the rip in his pants with a click of her tongue. “What do you say to me looking for something to replace those while I’m down there, huh? Can’t have the king leading an army in patchwork.”

His eyes lit up, and a smirk stretched his lips. Clearly, he found the endeavor amusingly lacking. “If you can find something that fits.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Yes, the odds of finding something whole that would fit a dwarf in a presentable manner were slim, but that hardly meant she could not be creative.

With the dwarves’ promise to keep the house clean and in one piece, Cori and Bilbo ventured outside where the sun shone and the birds sang, leisurely strolling down Bagshot Row on their way to the market. Just like Bilbo’s garden, Hobbiton bloomed with lush greens and radiant colors as spring marched in. A few neighbors waved to the passing tenant of Bag End and his walking companion, though a few seemed skeptical about the mysterious female in even stranger clothing, and their cheerful smiles broke. A hobbit was a hobbit, though, so her presence was overlooked with shrugs of indifference.

“We’ll be getting married in about two months,” he leaned over to her with a smile.

“Excuse me?”

He gestured to a small group enjoying a picnic on the grass. “I haven’t kept a woman’s company in a long, long time, especially not since I returned. The mill will start grinding as soon as word gets out that I’ve started taking walks with one to market. Considering how you’re dressed, they’ll probably say we met during my adventure in Bree. We’ll be married by Midsummer’s Eve, no doubt.”

She snickered. This was a hobbit that had taken a stroll in the neighborhood a time or two, if she ever saw one. He knew the ins and outs of Shire affairs. She may not have lived in this cozy valley for very long, but she could say without a doubt that his approximations were quite accurate.

As they walked, the two chatted, falling into an easy conversation like old friends, not two people who have rarely spoken a word apiece between them. Of course, Bilbo was curious about how she ended up in league with the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain. “They are persuasive, aren’t they?” Bilbo laughed after she finished sharing the tale of her business and how it led her to Erebor’s doorstep with poor Fíli in toe.

“Their circumstances are, more so than their words.”

“Now that sounds more like it.”

“Was that what drove you to journey with them?”

He shrugged. “Partly. I believe you were right, what you told me in Rivendell. I think everyone’s a bit fascinated with the world. They just don’t dare act on it. I found an excuse to finally go on an adventure, but let me tell you, I got more than I bargained for. After it all, I don’t have a single regret. How can you, when you come out on the other side with friends like that?”

She regretted leaving Buckland the way she did. If there was one thing she would go back and change, she would actually talk with her parents instead of throwing a rebellious fit and charging out into the wilderness on her own; she had a valid reason for going, a necessary evil, but her parents saw no sense in it, and that was her fault for not explaining to them. It seemed her father figured it out, but a little too late to save the family some grief. The fairytales of the world left much to be desired in the way of truth and sensibility. Hobbits had a good idea, not regularly involving themselves in the politics outside their borders. Bliss in ignorance, as they say. However, had she never left, she most certainly would not have met the dwarves, specifically Thorin. There was always a break in the clouds somewhere.

“Take my word for it,” Bilbo continued. “Meddling in the business of dwarves usually leaves you in a nasty way, even if they don’t mean to.”

She smiled, rolling her eyes. “If you’re hinting at what I think you are, I’ll have you know that I’m fully aware of what I’m doing. I’ve got a little more experience keeping myself alive than you do, after all.”

He sniffed. “Doesn’t mean you have to throw yourself on the sword if you don’t have to. And seeing how they treat you, I’d wager they wouldn’t want you doing that either.”

“Well, you’re right. Friends like those dwarves only ever come around once in a lifetime. They’re worth every bit of heartache and suffering thrown at me, even if they don’t think so. So I’m going to make my own decisions, and there’s nary a thing anyone can do about it.”

He pursed his lips, feigning disbelief. Behind the farce, though, was somebody who completely understood her devotion. Then he chuckled, shaking his head. “I see what Thorin sees in you. Or rather, what makes you good for _him_. I’m sure your butting heads keeps things interesting.”

That was one way of putting it. Though, he hardly seemed impressed when they first met. But sure, as long as it made them interact, one could say it spurred things along. “I really hope it’s more than that.”

“Thorin doesn’t seem the type to play around. So I think you’re safe, if that mark on your neck is anything to go by.”

 _Oh, bollocks._ Her hand flew up to rest just beneath her ear where a small twinge she had ignored all morning seemed to linger. It was under her hair. If it had been on full display, the others would have mentioned it without a doubt. They would have been relentless about it. So how...?

Bilbo snickered behind his hand. “To be honest, I didn’t see anything there. Now I don’t need to. You think things sneak by me in my own house, do you?”

She set her scowl straight ahead. A vibrant pink crawled onto her face. “No, Master Burglar, I wouldn’t expect it to.”

On such a fine morning to be out, the market was flooded. As such, the pair moved through the crowds mostly unnoticed and undisturbed, occasionally responding to absentminded greetings. Cori was smothered in memories from childhood and the market days with her parents and siblings. It was an exciting time for a farming family: selling their produce meant money to buy new things, and the Houndberry children were always guaranteed a new coat or doll before they returned home that evening. Then came the time when there was no money, and market days grew dull.

“I’ll be happy to compensate for anything you want that you can’t buy,” Bilbo told her as they began collecting nonperishables from cluttered, crowded carts and stands. “The dwarves’ pride better not have rubbed off on you. Ask.”

She giggled. “I will.”

In the end, Bilbo saw to it that all the travel food they gathered was paid for. They had several weeks’ worth of hearty rations that could easily be replenished in the fertile, spring-bathed hills of the Northfarthing. The fact that it was hobbit food made it all the tastier. Which meant late night cravings would be more difficult to ignore.

Cori’s own coin made it to a bubbly seamstress with a stand by the water. Her darker clothes were half-priced, she said, considering the approaching summer urged the hobbits to break out their flamboyant pieces. Cori settled on a decent-sized pair of trousers, one she was confident she could work with. After the seamstress acknowledged a friend who would gladly do something with furs, Cori ended up with a little more jingle in her pocket than she anticipated. If her plan botched, she needed back-up. There were no coats this time of year, at least not anything an unusually tall dwarf could fit into. She found a rain cloak, a water bottle, and a shoulder bag. Of course, the army they were preparing to meet would surely outfit the king with all the armor and clothes he would need. This? This was just from her.

After Bilbo finished with his own shopping—a few groceries to replenish what had been devoured so far—the two settled on the grass by the river for a small break before the trek home. Lunch approached swiftly, and another filling meal awaited their careful crafting back up in Bag End. Surely Cori would end up as plump as the other hobbit ladies by the time she left. As she nibbled on a piece of cheese and Bilbo puffed away at his pipe, voices floated toward them on the breeze from behind. Two pairs of ears pointed attentively in that direction.

“Dwarves, I tell you! A whole lot of them, down in Michel Delving. They settled outside the inn just yesterday morning, buying heapings of food.”

“Dwarves? What’s the surprise? We’re due for another trading caravan to come through.”

“Armed, they were! Full armor and swords and spears. A grizzly sight, said old Abner.”

“As long as they don’t stop for long, I say we stay outta their way. What goes on in the business of dwarves is none of our concern.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not all unsettling. Dwarves clanking about through the Shire, the Rangers all in a tizzy, somethin’ about orcs in the South. This all gives me a bad feeling, it does.”

Cori shared an apprehensive look with Bilbo.

A female voice joined the group. “Speaking of bad feelings, don’t look now, but I think I see that Houndberry girl sitting there by Bilbo Baggins.”

Her back tensed, and she let her curls curtain her face. She had come here too often in the past, it seemed.

“Houndberry? Ain’t that the lass from Buckland who took off all those years ago? Set out for the world and comes back to huddle in for the winter looking less and less hobbit-like every time.”

“No mistaking her. Seems Bilbo’s found a like-minded associate to consort with. Keep a watchful eye on your little Daisy. With those two and that rabble-rousing wizard hanging around, we’re likely to see all our young folk in a mass exodus from the Shire.”

A hand fell onto Cori’s arm, and she looked up to catch Bilbo’s gaze, the inquiry in it obvious. She nodded, and they both rose with their belongings to begin the walk back to Bag End. As they passed the outskirts of the market, they tried to avoid eye contact as much as possible. When the worst of the crowds were gone, she let out a breath. “How do you do it?” she blurted out, settling one sack more comfortably over her shoulder.

“Do what?”

“Listen to that, and not do a thing about it. Let people talk behind your back and act like it isn’t happening.”

He smirked. “And what’s this I’m hearing? Cori Houndberry, peeved by a little public opinion? And here I’d thought you’d seen it all, done it all, been around this way and that much too often to let such petty things get under your skin.”

She tapped his arm with her free hand. “All right, now. You’re starting to sound like the boys. And you wondered about me taking after them too much.” She glanced toward the ground, watching her feet shuffle through the grass. “It’s different here. Everyone’s not two heads taller than me. I…don’t look all that out of place.” Of all the places in the world she had been to, why could she not count on her own homeland to actually make her feel at home?

Bilbo shook his head. “Hobbits talk, you know that. Harmless, most of it. Just a bit to keep the boredom down. Let them talk. They know nothing, really, and quite frankly, they don’t _need_ to know a thing. Just let it brush over your head like a breeze.”

“You make it sound like an afternoon stroll.”

“It might get better, if you actually planted your feet back here for a while. Ever considered that? Getting away from it all and coming back to the Shire?”

Oh, if only she had the courage he did to come back and face everyone after running out of here with “mad” flying behind her like a cape. “Of course, but it doesn’t look as if it’s meant to be. Don’t worry about me, though. I’m happy where I am now.”

Her face must have been convincing because he nodded, digging no deeper.

But the others knew her, and well, it seemed. As they greeted her when the hobbits returned to the smial, Thorin immediately narrowed his eyes on her as soon as she stepped through the door. “Is something wrong?”

She fell into his embrace, smelling his usual scent mixed in with the soap where he had taken a proper bath while they were gone. His arms closed around her tightly, and she smiled. This was where she truly belonged. This was contentment, happiness. She did not need the Shire, no matter how badly she wanted it back. She knew she would always be accepted here, with the dwarves. That would be quite enough. “Everything’s fine.”

Once lunch was done, they split off for the rest of the afternoon, which gave Cori the time she needed to find a corner and work with her cloth. It had been some time since she had sewed such thin material, but in her professional opinion, the stitches would hold up just fine. And while one would look on somebody of his status and immediately see the “patchwork” in it, there was nothing that could not be hidden by the rest of his clothes. It would do until he could find a replacement, at the least, and she would not argue with a bit of practice.

“This was unnecessary,” Thorin chided as he flipped the pair of trousers around and around, particularly intrigued by the waist that actually seemed like it could fit his thick body. After supper, they headed off to his room for a quick chat about their day as they lazied around on the bed, watching the sun sink outside the window. At some point, Cori slipped out her surprises for him, watching with a rosy-cheeked smile, her legs folded and hands cradled in her lap.

“I didn’t know dwarves had such a contemptible attitude toward gift-giving. Remind me never to waste my time and money on you again.”

He chuckled, setting the clothes down and reaching for one of her hands. “I didn’t actually expect you to buy anything since I thought you were joking.” He picked up the satchel and inspected it closely with a fond grin. “Everything is amazing and expensive and I wish you hadn’t used your money on me.”

“You’ve been using yours on me for months. About time I pulled my own weight.”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course, you absolutely indolent leech.” He grabbed her gingerly under the arms and slid her across the bed covers until she sat cradled in his legs. Several kisses dotted along her neck and shoulder rapidly, and she giggled. “Thank you very much, _khajimele._ ”

“Well, try them on.”

With a pleased grin, she noted that her work had come out just right, even without any proper measurement. It was not too tight, allowing him ample room to move quickly, yet was not so loose that it would get in the way. He seemed satisfied as well, fingering the clean, light material. “Erebor could do with such skills as this,” he said.

She blushed. “Thank you.”

He then strode toward the small table next to the bed and reached down for the bag sitting next to it. “I had planned to present these a little more cleverly, particularly after some…wheedling.” He sent her wink. “But I think it would do well in a gift exchange. I had Bilbo explain a few things to me, offering these from his own garden.”

Bright red petals emerged from careful concealment. An amaryllis. _Extraordinary beauty._

“Oh, my.” She took the flower, examining it closely. “He told you…?”

“He told me exactly what it meant.”

She smiled broadly, unable to take her eyes off the bloom. “You’re too kind. Honestly.”

“I am only speaking what I’ve thought since we met at Erebor’s gates.”

She scooted closer, returning to her original position back against him to admire the flower. She had always been especially fond of these. “This is so beautiful. So vibrant. Thank you.”

“ _You_ are beautiful.” He kissed the top of her head. “And so much more. Which is why I got you something else.” He gingerly revealed another flower from the bag. A tulip of blinding pink. _I love you._

Yes, he had done it now. She was going to cry. No doubt about it. “Oh, Thorin.” She reached up to peck his lips, threading her fingers through the curly hairs of his beard. “I love you, too. So much.” She set the flower down next to the other one and stood on her knees with his face clasped between her hands. A long moment of continuous kisses followed.

He hummed appreciatively, pulling back. “Good. Now I can ask about this.” Once more, he handed her another flower. Except, it was not actually a flower.

She burst out laughing, holding the tiny coriander blooms just as delicately as the others. “You are a mischievous little scoundrel, you know that? All those times you claimed the boys’ father gave them that little sparkle in their eye. Rubbish.”

He chuckled, his nose tickling the sensitive skin of the little mark right below her ear. “Durin’s line has prevailed for many, many generations within a race where women have better, more productive things to do than give us ‘scoundrels’ one quick moment. We had to charm our wives somehow.”

“Foolproof, Your Majesty. Master plan.”

He slipped a quick kiss onto her lips, looking down once more to inspect the pants. Cori did the same, admiring how well the trousers actually fit him, shaped to his muscular legs just right.

Thorin smirked approvingly. “It is very good work.”

She hummed, settling further onto his lap. “Yes, indeed.” She grasped the waistband firmly, tilting her head back to look at him through her lashes. “Now I want them off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> 1\. kurdu: heart  
> 2\. Zi amsumul: you are wonderful  
> 3\. khajimele: my gift
> 
> Let's let our troop chill for a while. I think they need it. :)   
> Thank you all for the great feedback! <3


	26. Brick By Brick

All four walls of the room seemed to rattle with the door. “Thorin! Get your lazy royal arse out of bed! Kíli’s come back with the soldiers.”

Cori, abruptly yanked from her early morning doze, nearly leapt off the bed with a curse at the loud pounding on the door. Her salvation: the strong arm wrapped around her back. To express her gratitude, her knee dug painfully into her bed partner’s hip, accompanied by a grunt from them both. Finally, she came to rest with her head on his chest, silent giggles squeaking from her. _What a mess we are._ “Of all the rude brutishness in the world,” she mumbled. So much for another late morning.

Thorin groaned, shifting a little closer to her as his fingers skimmed the dent of her spine. “I’m up, Dwalin,” he called, dipping his face into the crook of her neck and smacking loud busses along her sensitive skin. Of course, her surprised, delighted gasp only seemed to encourage him, and she had very little will to actually push him off.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” the voice in the hall countered. “Don’t make me come in there. Mahal’s beard, I’ll drag Your Majesty out by the foot if I have to. Or, better yet, I’ll just take away your new recreational interest.”

“If you dare come through that door, son of Fundin,” he growled, not-so-subtly crawling further on top of her so she was conveniently blocked from the door, “your eyes won’t be the only thing you lose.”

Cori tried to hide her laughter, a little distracted by the hand now strumming a sweet melody between her legs.

“If you don’t show your face in five minutes, I’ll take my chances.” His loud footsteps thumped swiftly to another part of the smial.

Thorin sighed into her hair, resuming his kisses. “Sorry.”

“Better be. That’s _your_ cousin out there, interrupting my precious sleep.” And she thought she could get away from the early wake-up calls for one more day. Dwalin’s were particularly annoying, however effective they might be. “And let’s not pretend he’d be interested in anything if he did come in here.”

He chuckled, rolling back onto his side of the bed. His blue eyes regarded her adoringly. “You underestimate your allure, _khajimele._ ”

Well, she certainly benefitted from his. He looked the same as he had when she awoke before first light: covers drawn low on his hips and hair sprawled out over the pillow. She would never confess to how long she lay and stared at his sleeping form before returning to slumber herself. “It’s warm anyway. You’re a living furnace, just so you’re aware. Nice when I’m cold, but after sleeping next to it all night, I think I’d like a reprieve.”

“Then let me help you with that.” The blanket settled over her upper half was drawn away, and her body responded in accordance to the reverberations of the night before. She moaned in bliss, rolling back over to cuddle against his chest as he pulled her in for a long kiss. One hand tangled into her dark curls while the other continued to brush away her cover until only her knees and below were hidden. Then he stopped and pulled back, eyes searching her face. “I want to do something.”

“What? See if Dwalin will actually come here while we’re obviously…? Because I haven’t known him nearly as long as you have, and I absolutely believe he’ll go through with it.”

“No.” He tugged her upright until they sat on the bed facing each other, her legs folded while his stretched out on either side of her. His hands caressed her arms with a delicate touch. “Last night, I began the courting rituals customary of hobbits, with the flowers. Now I would like to continue in the manner of the dwarves.”

Oh.          

He reached up, holding a piece of her hair between his thumb and index as if it were a strand of silk. “May I?”

She nodded dumbly, too stunned for words. _Courting._ She was actually being courted by a dwarf.

“Turn around,” he said, and she wordlessly obeyed. With meticulous, nimble fingers, he began to weave a four-strand braid into her curls, starting on one side of her head. “The couple in question bestows a braid on the other at the same time. It can be of any fashion, or it can require two or more pieces. However, what matters is the bead.” Evidently, he was done, because his fingers appeared over her shoulder, presenting a small, round metal clasp with symbols she could not decipher before he retrieved it again. “This is one that I was made to forge many years ago, when the idea of my finding a spouse was still conceivable. Not my finest work, I admit, but Dís is the jeweler in the family.” He sealed it with a tiny click, twisting her back around to face him. “Now my intentions with you are perfectly clear.”

Cori felt the end of the braid tucked evenly behind her ear and brushing along her jaw, her heart pounding within her chest. _Oh, Yavanna, what am I doing?_ Then she paused, feeling panic rise from her stomach. She looked at the tangled sheets around them as if she would find what she sought there. “I don’t have anything like that. At all.” She reached onto the table next to the bed and grasped the clasps he usually wore within his hair. “Can I just do your usual braids and use yours?”

He grinned, bowing his head once. “Of course.”

“I’m warning you now.” She settled behind him. “It won’t be pretty.”

“I’ve seen what you’ve been doing with yours recently. You’re improving. I will wear these with pride for as long as I can.”

She wished desperately that she had something prepared for this occasion, but her improvisation would have to do. He hardly seemed displeased anyway. She pulled his long, dark hair away from his face with two thick braids around his head, pinning them together with one bead. Then she twisted what was left down the back of his head, finishing that off with the other. It actually looked presentable. At least, she hoped it did. “If this isn’t actually a masculine style, I’m so sorry.”

He laughed loudly, lying back until his head rested in her lap. “There is very little distinction. Thank you.”

She lifted an eyebrow at him. “You have an army waiting for you, Your Majesty.”

He groaned, nuzzling into her thigh. “I thought we were on holiday.” He sat up, pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of her mouth before sluggishly shuffling out of bed.

It was indeed incredibly easy to let every trouble out of one’s mind while reposing in the Shire. But they were running on a schedule and the time had caught up with them. After telling the dwarves about what the hobbits in the market were discussing, Thorin dispatched Kíli to intercept Arin’s army in Tuckborough and bring them up this way. His orders were to wait for the cover of night before leading them into Hobbiton, so the locals were not stirred. If all went well, and apparently it did, the army had congregated in the wood to the north. They needed to be put to good use.

As she watched him redress, she studied the discoloration still covering his torso and face. He voiced no complaints while they touched and kissed in the night, nor did he seem overly stiff. “You’re healing well.”

He scoffed. “A few meager strikes from Men will not put me under stone just yet, dear one. I’d hoped you would think me more robust by now.”

“Since when have I lived up to expectations?” She rose up from the bed, careful to put a bit of swing in her hips as she approached him. Her effort was noted; his heavy gaze observed her bareness blisteringly. Oh, what a treat. Here was a dwarf who ruled over a mountain housing a legendary store of priceless, resplendent gold and gems, which was renowned for its quantity and _beauty_ , and he stiffened like a statue at the mere sight of her. She rose up onto her toes and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek. “Don’t test your limits, you cantankerous, delightful fool.”

A warrior who had seen as much as he had would not have made it this far by being reckless. And yet, she thought she lost him once already. Once was more than enough.

A firm arm slipped around her waist, holding her to his side as he hovered over her ear. “I will do what is necessary for my people, and what will keep you safe. Understand that because negotiating will not be an option for you later. Say your piece now, if you must, but your beguiling will fall short, I’m afraid.”

She huffed. There had been no fooling herself into thinking she might entice him into actually taking care of himself; a rather absurd idea it would have been. Yet it seemed he could detect her pitiful attempts anyway, so that halted any future ambitions. Disappointing. “Please be careful, Thorin,” she whispered, burying herself in his chest with every desire to hide away in the peace of this room forever.

He lay his cheek on the top of her head. “I will. I intend to continue what we’ve started here, _khajimele._ ”

_Those better be some formidable intentions,_ she thought as she remembered what—or who—exactly they were promising to come back from. Then she pushed her melancholy away. This threat most certainly would not be easy to overcome. She needed to focus and put aside her sentiments or a lot of people were going to be hurt.

The dwarves and their stalwart lady hobbit gathered together new and old supplies and readied themselves to set out for Bindbole where the army from Durmark would be waiting. There was not much else to do further except bid farewell to their host once again. “Leaving already?” Bilbo seemed genuinely disheartened when he learned of their impending departure, eyeing their full packs hefted onto their shoulders with a crease in his brow.

“We have much work to do, Master Baggins.” Thorin patted his arm. “This madness will only end if we press on, and while your home continues to call to us with the promise of warm beds and good food, we must decline for now.”

“For now,” Fíli iterated with a wink.

Bilbo sniffed, nodding his head. “Well, I wish you luck, as always. I’m sure you don’t need it, as resourceful as you are, but all the same, I must at least send _something_ with you. You’re more than welcome to come back if you need somewhere to stay before you head back across the Misty Mountains. Just the five of you, though. There will be no catering to an army when only thirteen of you took out my whole pantry, even if I can reasonably afford it.”

“We’ll see what happens.” Thorin grinned, showing very much his inclination to take up the offer.

After Fíli, Kíli, and Dwalin gave the homely hobbit bone-crushing hugs in appreciation for his hospitality, Cori took her turn, leaning in for her own embrace. As she did, she passed him an envelope sealed with a messy lump of wax and an address scrawled onto the front. “Can you see this gets sent? It’s to my family. I left abruptly the last time I saw them, and I know they must be worried about what was happening when I did.”

He accepted the letter. “Not a worry, lass. I’ll see that it gets there.”

“I’ve mentioned you,” she told him. “If my brother Garthor reads this, he may try to contact you. Just a warning.”

He nodded his understanding. “I’ll do what I can for him.”

“Thank you,” she sighed, leaning in for one more hug.

The troop took a few hours to reach the woods to the north of The Hill, unsure of what exactly they would find when they got there. When a sentry met them on the path and directed them into the trees, they made a discovery most invigorating. Lord Arin’s response to their plea for sword arms and zealous vengeance came through exceedingly adequately: Cori estimated fifty soldiers sitting around cook fires with whetstones to their weapons, and that was just what she could see. As they walked into camp, the dwarves stood in reverent acknowledgement of their king and princes, a few placing their fists to their chests.

When they reached the middle where a tent had been set up against a boulder, their guide introduced them to the general leading the expedition. The dark brown beard and mane of Hundin, son of Lavin, was braided back neatly into a style for war, the impressive length still cascading down the back of his armor. He emerged from the tent with a salute and a bow to Thorin. “My King, it is good to see you well.”

“And you,” Thorin replied, glancing around at the dozens of eyes watching them. “All of you. This is…more than I could have hoped from one city.”

“When the news spread, we had volunteers from up and down Ered Luin show their support which, you understand, we could not turn down.” His dark eyes narrowed on their small group, skimming over Cori as if she chafed his blistered skin. “When you left Durmark, you had many guards accompanying you. Did you find trouble along the way?”

Thorin’s blue eyes iced over, and his nostrils flared. “A slight detour. We had to submit four of them to help refugees in the mountains. The three others gave their lives for us in defense against Men of the enemy by the Lune. The rest of us are unharmed.”

Hundin hummed, casting his eyes to the ground in solemn reverence. “May Mahal keep their souls until the end of days.” When he looked up, his stern glare immediately found the hobbit. She knew then that she had just taken the blame for their loss; traveling with an outsider on such business as theirs probably cast some kind of spell for bad luck on the group, in the eyes of the more traditional mountain folk. He did not appreciate her presence in their camp in the least. Like she did the first time he attempted to intimidate her with his little scowl, she lifted her chin just a bit and met his gaze. As she did so, she could feel the cool bead shift against her jaw, and she was not the only one to catch the movement. Hundin’s jaw visibly clenched when he saw what dangled from behind her ear, but he looked away as if the exchange never happened and returned his attention to the king. “We have heard nothing from the Men in the South, and all the Rangers we could contact have been dispatched to surround the land of the halflings. We are on our own.”

“As we suspected,” Thorin sighed. “Rohan should have realized the extent of this emergency by now. I’m not entirely inclined to believe that Ryone has detached himself completely from his homeland. No matter. We have always taken care of things ourselves. We have matters to discuss.”

“If we could, my lord, just the two of us for now,” Hundin interrupted. “In the meantime, the princes and Dwalin may be fitted with the extra armor we have brought. Vóris, if you would…”

Thorin dismissed the group with a nod before following the general back into the tent. Cori clenched her fists, wanting desperately to go in there with him. The blame could certainly be placed on the irritability that scowly dwarf gave her, but she did not trust him. He had attempted to sway Thorin into all-out war back in Durmark. Who was to say he would not try something like that again? But Thorin was hardly in danger; he stood up last time and would do so again if he needed to. Dwarves could not be dubbed naïve.

“Come on,” Fíli said, grabbing Cori’s hand. “Let’s let the adults talk and go find some new toys.”

The three dwarves seemed zealous to follow their guide back toward a tarp-covered wagon where two ponies were hitched and silently eating piles of hay. New toys indeed, it looked like. When the blanket moved away, a pile of weapons sat next to a stack of leather breastplates, helmets, and other mismatched pieces of armor. Vóris pulled out a few sacks of clothes, providing them with clean, regal tunics and coats to wear beneath and over their new vests. He looked at Cori with an inquisitive quirk of the brow, but she shook her head. “I think I’m all right, thanks.”

Kíli narrowed his eyes at her where he sat on the back of the wagon, legs swinging in the air and a handful of almonds in his palm. “You going in against those Men like a common civilian, Cori? I don’t think so. You need armor.”

“No, I’m not, actually. I’d just be under foot.”

“We’ll let Thorin decide what you’re doin’, lass,” Dwalin said, tossing her a smaller vest that still looked like it would swallow her up. “At any rate, you won’t be allowed anywhere near any enemy camp or otherwise without some kind of protection, and that thing you’re always strugglin’ to tighten in the mornin’ ain’t going to do you a bit o’ good against steel.”

The hobbit glared at the contraption in her hand, remembering that dwarves chose the hard way to fight: constricting themselves as much as possible. “If I’m going to be of any use, it’s with my bow. I don’t think I could draw wearing this.”

He sighed. “Keep it with you, then. It may come in handy at some point.”

She relented, setting it aside with her other things to wait for that moment he was convinced would appear. On a more positive note, her supply of arrows was replenished completely, though the black feathers contrasted with her usual sparrow fletching. The disorderliness would have to be ignored for now. Her quiver had never been stocked so full before, but then again, she had never had to prepare for battle like this.

After the three others slipped into their fresh clothes and lighter, everyday armor, the group followed Vóris one more time back toward the boulder where Hundin’s tent was. However, that was not their destination. On the northern side of the rock, another tent had been set up. “For the king and princes,” the dwarf announced before taking off into camp for his next duty.

“Good thing it’s big enough for two more,” Kíli said, pushing Cori in with a hand on the small of her back. In the middle of the tent, a small firepit had been dug up and circled by stones beneath a hole in the top that would vent out the smoke. Bedrolls lay around it on the soft grass covered with various furs. It was, indeed, large enough for a few more people to fit in, and they set to work rearranging the place to accommodate the extra beds.

“How about a nice hobbit-cooked meal for an early supper, eh?” Fíli winked at her, as if the two other eager faces did not provide enough incentive. Cori rolled her eyes, utterly and irritatingly powerless against their pleas. But, then again, their recent purchases from the Hobbiton market called to her all day long, and she still reeled from the delicious spread at Bilbo’s house. A little bit of something to prolong their good mood as long as possible might do, before they had to forget the peace of the Shire and focus on the chaos ahead.

By the time they were finished, Thorin had been gone for hours, not even stopping in to eat with them. The dwarves busied themselves with sharpening their weapons and playing a simple game of wits over the fire, but Cori could only restlessly watch the flap of their tent. All this time, she listened to the laughing and scraping of steel from the camp outside, and each moment of it that passed made her knee bounce even faster. The uncertainty of it all had begun to weigh heavily on her mind. Her anxiety would be solved if Thorin reappeared, even if he had nothing more to tell them than when they parted. If she could only have his presence, she would feel so much better about what lie in the path of the next few days.

Finally, it was all she could take.

_This is wrong,_ she thought as she rose from her blanket and nonchalantly ambled out of the tent. She turned around and walked toward the other side of the rock. _I should not be doing this. It’s so wrong, and I’ll probably lose my head for this._ But her mind whirled, and she could not focus on the consequences of her actions, which prompted her to continue anyway. Next to the other tent, two more ponies had been staked to the ground, lazily grazing on the grass at their feet. Cori smiled at them with a flutter of longing for her stout little pony before sitting down on a stool. Taking up a cloth, leather oil, and a bridle, she worked the oil into the tack with practiced ease. She avoided eye contact with any who walked by, her ears set on the conversation from within.

“Forgive me, my lord, but that is not a battle strategy. At least not one I would follow with the intent of keeping my life.” Hundin.

“There is only one way to get into the city, which is surrounded by high walls, mountains, and a lake. There is not much choice.”

“A perfect trap.”

“One we must trip in order to draw our enemy out. Once he is taken care of, I have no doubt his followers will scatter and present no further threat to our people. If we can find him, this will be over before our losses grow too high.”

“And how do you plan on enticing him from his hold?”

“A secret weapon, should she be willing.”

Hundin sighed heavily. “The halfling.”

“A hobbit was significantly responsible for the destruction of Smaug and the reclamation of the Arkenstone, and he had little experience in such situation. This one is even more efficient, and will prove more functional than you think.”

“You have considerable fascination with these creatures. They must be worth something if you are willing to give one your braid and bead.”

Cori gripped her tress, fingering the clip at the end.

“Their apparent weakness is a guise. They are tougher than rams, and noble as any warrior. Loyal beyond warrant. She has earned my trust, and I am confident she can win us this war.”

“Nevermind the ramifications of putting all hope of ending our troubles in her weak hands. You would shame the kings that came before you by taking a _halfling_ as a mate? Spit on the memory of your grandfather and father before you and the pride of our race? Can she even birth you a son?”

Metal slammed into wood, and Cori nearly dropped the tack. Even from her spot, she could almost feel the vibrations of Thorin’s growl. “I do not desire to carry out punishments during this time when everything teeters so precarious, yet I will not hesitate to if I’m given no choice. You have stepped out of line, son of Lavin. I do not need your counsel on how I conduct my rule, nor do I need you disrespecting my chosen partner. Another word against her, and there will be consequences. As of now, the throne belongs to Fíli, son of Víli, when I am gone, and that is all you need concern yourself with.”

A heavy pause, ensued, filled only by the blood pumping in Cori’s ears, before the reproached dwarf replied, “Yes, sir.”

“We are done here,” Thorin all but snarled, shuffling papers noisily. “Out.”

_Uh, oh._ Cori dropped the bridle and, grabbing a brush sitting nearby, ducked behind one of the ponies. Beneath the whiskery chin, she watched Hundin burst through the tent flap like a bull through a half-open gate, heavy steps furiously pounding away into the night. She grinned; the bull likeness was a little too much to handle discreetly.

“Guard?” came Thorin’s voice once again, a little gentler this time. A soldier posted close to the opening of the tent ducked inside. “Summon my kin and Hundin’s second, if you would.”

“My lord.”

Cori waited until the soldier passed by before dropping her disguise and following after him as indiscriminately as a hobbit in a dwarf war camp could be. She stood right behind him as he stuck his head into the tent to deliver the message to the princes and war chief, bracing herself in case she underestimated his movements. The armored chest rushing toward her left her with a leaping heart. “Oh, terribly sorry! Thought you’d heard me. Quite all right, no harm done.” She slipped around him and into the tent, ignoring the befuddled expression he gave her and waving to the three other occupants as they filed out behind her. Once she was left alone, she flopped down on her bedroll and sighed.

And that was how to make oneself the least likely suspect.

She tried not to take Hundin’s words personally. She knew, after all—probably more than anyone—how small-minded many of the dwarves could be. It was not an epidemic, she had come to learn, but rather a statistic, like within any other group of people. But it was a compelling one, held by many like Hundin: influential, with the power to make choices for people without hope of backlash. In the end, hearing that altercation just gave her a reminder she needed. Thorin was truly out of reach for her. Oh, there was nothing wrong with enjoying what they had now, as if it _could_ go on forever; she just had to remember that it was doomed to end one way or another. Thorin was a king, a _dwarf_ king, and reality cared little for how strongly her heart beat for him.

Her little troop took their time in whatever conference did not include her, allowing her a moment to flip through the battered pages of one of her books. When Dwalin, Fíli, and Kíli returned, they were without the fourth. And each one looked as if he walked on eggshells. Fíli caught her inquiry and pursed his lips. “It seems Thorin’s first talk with Hundin ended badly. The general entered the meeting about halfway through and started challenging Thorin. Thorin’s gone to walk it off.”

Oh, mercy. One could only be subjected to that tosspot for so long, but to be forced to work with him?

The sun was only an hour from setting when the king finally entered the tent. Like the others, he had also changed into more appropriate clothing: a brigandine was buckled across his chest and a dark blue jacket was tied together by a thick belt around his waist. Cori noticed, however, with a hint of satisfaction, that he still wore the trousers she mended for him. He stomped over to their beds and sat down with a hard thud on the furs. Clearly, his little walk had done a piffling job for his mood; he was beyond irritated, scowling sharp spears into the fire with tiny muscle spasms jerking in his face every now and then. A blood vessel would surely pop, if his temper did not first.

Reaching over the fire, she grabbed the bowl that sat warming on the coals and offered it to him. The movement cut through his stupor, and he looked at the bowl. Immediately, his tension melted away, the slightest smile creeping upward as he reached for it. He planted a small kiss on her temple before digging in. After a moment, he paused, then leaned forward to set the bowl over the fire again. Cori was about to ask what was wrong with it (the other three could hardly believe they had to stop after seconds), but watched instead with confusion as he shifted over until he sat behind her. Pacific fingers loosened the quick, simple braid hanging over her shoulder and threaded through her curls until most of the snares were broken. Then he began to plait it, starting at her hairline and working down the back of her head. At some point, he merged the braid he had given her that morning with it, making sure the bead hung out, deliberately visible. He even left a few wisps to frame her face. After a moment, his breathing evened out, and his slow pace became even more leisurely. She would not question, so long as he was not yelling. “You want to ask,” he broke the silence with a low, sturdy voice addressed to her. “About what we discussed. Am I right?”

“Don’t quite enjoy being sent to the children’s table.”

He huffed, his deft fingers never losing rhythm in her air. “You are causing discourse within the army, my dear hobbit. While that is of no fault to you, cooperation from my headstrong officers can only be achieved if they are comfortable talking with me. Your presence would…complicate things.”

She hummed, pulling a laugh from the brothers when she rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

Thorin finished with the braid, looping his arms around her waist and pulling her against him. “I’m sorry, _khajimele._ ”

She sighed. “Not in your control, I know. I’m shocked I haven’t had an ax to my neck yet, as jumpy as dwarves are in peacetime.”

“That braid probably saved your life,” Dwalin pointed out with a smirk.

“Spies rode ahead of this party to scout out the Hills. They encountered no orcs, but they were able to confirm that Ryone is hiding out in the ruins of Annúminas.”

“Sounds smooth,” she commented.

“Yes, it is good. We plan on moving in the night, as we will have the advantage in the low light. We’ll pin him against the lake and overwhelm his forces. It will be over quickly.”

“Sounds _too_ smooth,” she murmured, brow furrowing.

“We will adapt to whatever we encounter,” he assured her. He placed his lips to her neck, pressing small, feathery kisses along it.

Cori glowed brighter than a ripe tomato, avoiding the eyes of the others as they averted toward their own conversation. “Thorin…” she whispered, trying to twist out of his grasp. “We aren’t exactly alone.”

He did not relent. “I must make sure any lingering infatuation in my nephews is shot down quickly.”

“That’s your blasted paranoia talking and you know it.” No chance of catching some alone time with the king in this camp, would there be? She would be suffering some serious withdrawals.

“I cannot ask you to face our enemy with us.”

The hot flood rushing to her belly ceased and froze, colder than their trip through the Misty Mountains. “What?”

“Every fiber of my being wants to tuck you away, safe from everything that could harm you. But you chose to come with us this far, and I can’t prevent you from continuing if you wish it. You are useful to us in ways that no dwarf could ever accomplish. I just want you to know that you have a choice.”

She pulled him away from her neck, settling her head back on his shoulder. “What do you think I’ll choose?”

He grinned. “To put more grey in my hair.”

“Precisely.” She attempted to glimpse his face. “You’re not going to smother me?”

He sighed, idly playing with the fingers of one of her hands. “I will not control you and call it love.”

“Good. The last time someone tried to do that, I disappeared to the other side of Middle-earth. So what am I going to be doing?”

“We have a few days to figure that out.”

“Just name it and it’s done.” She never dreamed she would ever be making a promise like that to anyone.

“I believe you,” he replied as if the words themselves choked him. His grip on her tightened just a little. She clenched his hand in reply, hoping to squelch his worries.

The anxiety was starting to tickle her, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> khajimele: my gift
> 
> The chapter I was working (the one after this) is a little long and jam packed, so there's my excuse for the delay. Now you've got something to look forward to. ;) I'll try to be swifter with the next one.


	27. The Ghost

“What kind of military leader decides it’s an excellent idea to trap himself in the ruins of a city surrounded on three sides by mountains and one by water?” Fíli mused in his saddle, glaring ahead as if the perplexing idea itself upset him personally.

“Maybe he used up all his smarts some time ago,” Dwalin replied with a cackle. “If he ever had any at all.”

“He thinks he has nothing to fear,” Thorin snorted. “Apparently, he is heavily reliant on his pawns to guard the area.”

“Guardin’,” Dwalin roared with laughter. “Is that what they’re doin’? I ain’t so sure about the little toothpicks that lay dead by the Lune or the ones sullyin’ the ground by that old barn a couple miles back. Wonder what the punishment for sleeping on the job is for this fella.”

_Nothing more pleasant than you’d think._ Cori almost stumbled over a tree root when she realized how close she had come to saying that out loud.

With a hundred or so soldiers tramping behind them, the army moved rather swiftly in a northward direction. They were two days out from Hobbiton and well into the Northfarthing by now. In fact, they seemed to have just passed through Oatbarton the night before, if Cori remembered her solo exploration of this place correctly. The Northway leading to the Hills of Evendim were specked with Men every once in a while, and quite fewer than any of them expected. Disposal of their roadblocks was quick and efficient. But there had been no sign of orcs, and this new development did not sit well with the dwarves. Cori was just glad to not have encountered any of the vile creatures again; although, in the state they were in, the Men could have easily ranked just as, if not more so, foul as the orcs.

“Where are we now?” Kíli asked, taking in their surroundings with a furrow in his brow. Along the road they walked, they passed a number of houses, business establishments, and grain barns, all in varying stages of disrepair. They were hobbit-sized: the barley growers of the Shire, yet they definitely would not be doing very much growing when their fields sat burned and stomped flat as they were.

“Bullroarer’s Sward,” Cori answered, biting her lip against the anger and sadness flooding her at the sight. “Still in the Shire, technically, though it’s not as populated as the rest of it. Certainly not now.”

“How unfair,” Kíli mumbled quietly, glaring at an abandoned house with its door ripped off the hinges and the windows shattered. “Uprooted only because they resided on the single road allowing passage to the ruins. And the one group of Men to actually take pity on them are the Rangers.”

“As is their way,” Hundin growled in reply. “If it does not threaten their own way of life, Men are content to sit back and watch others be destroyed. Sickening how minds can be changed so quickly.”

Cori shifted her vigorous gnawing to her tongue instead, switching between that and her cheek until she surely tasted blood. If not for the fact that she would be antagonizing her company who she knew did not deserve to be regarded so lowly, she would have brought up the secrecy and isolation the dwarves have long lived in and continued to do so, and definitely not with just an informative tone. Hundin had made it perfectly clear he was one of those individuals who would rather hide in the mountains, away from everyone, rather than seek good relations with the other races. She would have loved to have a go at him about his hypocrisy, but now was not the time.

Thankfully, a certain blond prince seemed to have a mental link with her. “If it weren’t for the Rangers, every land from here to the Misty Mountains would be infested with orcs, goblins, and all manner of wicked creature one could possibly come up with. And look where they are now: around the Shire, protecting a race that means next to nothing to them, if you think from a profitable viewpoint. I wouldn’t call _that_ selfish.”

“They pick and choose who they wish to help,” Hundin replied after he had finished grumbling something inaudible into his beard. “The halflings take precedence, obviously, and while we can all agree they wouldn’t survive long without the watch, it’s no contest who would be chosen even if they were able to defend themselves. Not the targets.”

“I seem to recall you holding the opinion that we would be better off without the help of humans, just as we always have,” Thorin interrupted, his icy cold glare whipping back to narrow on Hundin. “The Rangers are exactly where they need to be. They are not sitting idle in their warm, southern cities. Point your anger where it should be, General…” He jerked his head toward Cori. “…and not at victims.”

Hundin’s sense of self-preservation kicked in, and he held his tongue before it got him demoted or beheaded.

Thorin had been brooding at the front of the parade for most of their march north. Reeling from his underproductive talk the other day, no doubt. It had probably been made worse by having to camp and keep the company of the one who once called him traitor, but he had been doing well to keep the dissention quiet. The effort took its toll, though; his perpetual bad mood was difficult for even her to penetrate.

Fíli set his attention on Cori after casting a troubled glare toward his uncle. “Do hobbits not have any form of protection for themselves?”

She bobbed her head. “Well, of course, we do. Hobbits do what they can to avoid the evils of the world, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t aware that they exist. I’ve told you lot a few times now how the hobbits of Buckland—its own country separated from the Shire by the Brandywine—have improved responses to danger compared to the rest of the valley. At the very least, we’re taught how to defend ourselves from the time we’re old enough to help out in the fields and on the boats. Nothing fancy about our weapons, but considering we never have much occasion to use them, they’re built for functionality only. And when the Horn of Buckland sounds, we’re ready to go to war in a pinch.

“The rest of the Shire dallies a little more, but they still have their own organized militia. Bounders, we call them. They keep anyone from passing through the borders with an itch to cause trouble. See, when you threaten a hobbit’s peace and quiet, they really get down and dirty. The bounders are armed and trained much to the same degree as us Bucklanders are, though not to any point you’d be satisfied with. Very few of them, since it isn’t really a necessary or desired position; the Rangers are always keeping watch, bless them. My father’s youngest brother is a bounder, actually. Moved out to Woodhall to marry some pretty lass that gave him a delicious cake one time, and fell in love with the country instead. Haven’t heard whether or not he got the lass.”

“I remember coming across someone like that when we first came for Bilbo,” Fíli mused. “Definitely seemed official enough to scare the pants off of you if you weren’t expecting it.”

“Like I said before, we get down to business. Have you heard of the Battle of Greenfields?”

“Golfimbul,” Thorin replied thoughtfully. “The defeat of the goblin chief. By a hobbit, yes?”

“Ah, Bandobras Took. An ancestor of Bilbo’s, actually. Mother’s side, of course; good gracious, I can’t imagine a Baggins making Shire history, but by Old Took’s feet, if it didn’t just happen. Anyway, our grand Bandobras went by the name of Bullroarer, which is why this particular area is branded as such. Extremely tall, for a hobbit. The only battle in the history of hobbits since we got to this silly little valley all those years ago, and we were victorious.”

“Against orcs,” Hundin cut in with his favored sneer and sarcasm. “Yes, quite the victory indeed, halfling.”

She snorted, actually bothering to turn and face him this time. “Yes, it was. Something that proved to be a difficult feat for your settlement.”

“Cori.”

The hobbit quickly clamped her jaw shut. She had not meant to say that. She did not even think before it came out. Her gaze avoided the indignant and bewildered look from the king. “Sorry.”

“That’s enough, Hundin,” he said calmly. “We do not disparage triumphs of battle. You should know this above anyone.”

The dwarf turned his disgruntled expression elsewhere. “Yes, sir.”

Cori, embarrassed to look up and meet the eyes of her friends, startled when she felt an arm wrap around her shoulder and a pointed nose brush her ear. “ _You_ know his words are simple-minded, Cori. A ploy to rile you and find something else to denounce you with. This isn’t a game to outpace him.”

“I don’t actually think that,” she whispered. “What I said.”

“I know.” He stepped away from her after rubbing a hand to the small of her back. His warmth went with him.

If she could not keep her foot out of her mouth, she would end up in serious trouble one day.

“You have any ancestors in the battle, lass?” Dwalin asked, sparing them all any lingering tension which he did not seem to share (shocking, considering his pride for his people rivaled Thorin’s).

“A distant grandfather, Cornelius Houndberry. He was killed, but not before taking down several orcs from his perch on a high roof. His aim with a bow was praised amongst those who knew him. It was something he had been able to call his own his whole life, and he didn’t have much before marrying his wealthy wife Iris. A noble hobbit who I would’ve given my right arm to meet.”

“You’re pretty handy with the thing yourself,” Kíli said, nudging her with an elbow. “So taking a shine to arrows wasn’t just a requirement of your job, was it?”

Her family loved to make the same association. She would beg to be told the story of Grandfather Cornelius over and over as a faunt, and many of her relatives lamented when she grew to emulate the hobbit in thought. Her mother, in jest, would often express her regret for choosing a name so similar, especially when Cori made the connection in her mind. She smiled at the young hobbit who stood atop high hills and toppled imaginary goblins with her invisible bow. “No. No, it wasn’t.”

Just as the sun began to set, they approached Annúminas. Once a great city, it still held fast against nature’s attempts to reclaim the area. Stone towers and roofs spired out from behind the hills that nearly smothered it entirely from view of the road. Even from a distance, the army recognized the signs of inhabitation. With the light fading, the torches scattered within the crumbling walls of the Númenórean ruin flickered strongly. However, they could not see the front gate.

“It is too risky for the whole army to approach any further,” Hundin said, lifting a hand to halt the troops, “if we are sticking with your proposal of discretion, sir.”

“If we tip them off to our presence, it will give Ryone time to escape,” Thorin replied.

“There is an entrance on the western side of the city leading into the mountains,” Cori said.

Dwalin narrowed his eyes at her. “How do you know?”

She shrugged. “I’ve explored here before. It was one of the first places I came after leaving the Shire. Fur hunting can get a little tedious after a while. I think I took down a few foxes that had been hiding out in there during my visit.”

“So you know the city?” Thorin turned to her, a hesitance in his eyes. “Generally?”

She nodded. “At least where the main streets lead.”

“He could be anywhere in that infested pit,” Hundin snarled, hands wringing the hilt of his sword as if warming up for use on a neck. “Even if we do manage to get passed the gate, we’ll be floundering around in there trying to find him, which will give him plenty of time to slip out anyway.”

“Half the city’s flooded,” Cori said. “But the bridge leading to the king’s tower is still above water, and so is part of the island the castle sits on.”

“That’s as safe a place as a coward like ‘im would need to avoid a direct hit from an attack, even if it is the first place someone would look for ‘im,” Dwalin added. “And he’s got the option o’ escapin’ across the lake. I wouldn’t doubt a second that the lass’s onto somethin’.”

Thorin’s brain tumbled around, eyes cast through the rising darkness toward the flame-tinted city. His jaw clenched hard, his brow pinching almost painfully. It was inevitable, the call he struggled to give. Despite his words from before, a war waged in his head: to let her be a part of this, ultimately helping them gain a step ahead of their enemy, or use his contractual authority over her to placate the inherent force that begged him to keep his lover safe. And he had the courtliest expression to hide it all; Cori could not begin to determine which way he would go.

Deep within the confines of the hobbit’s own racing mind—thoughts which drove her heart to thump wildly against her ribs—she wished he would do what he truly wanted to. What he had promised to do that last day in Bag End. Going anywhere near that city now made her want to vomit. Damn her weak little composure, but she could barely keep her shaking hands under control. Fueling even more nausea was the incredibly powerful need to _run._ Oh, damn her pride, too! She did _not_ want to face _him_ now.

But she watched the confliction dash across the face of the man she loved, a thousand different emotions hidden beneath a grimace so well practiced, he hardly let go of it in daily life. Somewhere amongst them, however, was the fear of losing those he cared for. He wanted every single dwarf there to go home after this. She could make that number larger, and their chances higher, even though she would be the one taking the greater gamble.

_I can’t run forever_

“Give me an hour,” she said. Thorin visibly winced, but he gave her his attention anyway. “I can get in. I know it. I’ll distract him, or…something, to keep him from running until you can get through.”

“No!” The loud objection came from Fíli, and certainly not unexpectedly. The prince glanced between Cori and Thorin, shaking his head. “Overton was one thing, but this isn’t a simple village of Men with cravens as guards. That place is _crawling_ with the bastards like the ones that killed Brur and Othor. We are not sending her in there by herself! We should stay together.”

“I agree,” Hundin announced. “This is not a good idea.”

“If we want to make any kind of progress, we have to use every asset we’ve got.” Thorin looked back toward Fíli softly. “I don’t like it either, but we must do something. If she is willing, we should not stop her.”

Next, Fíli turned his pleading gaze on her. Had this been any other time, she may have caved beneath its power. But she was adamant, and doubts would bar her from ever stepping foot in that city. She _needed_ to do this. She shook her head at the boy. He could do no convincing.

“I’ll vouch for her,” Dwalin said, eyeing the dwarf general with a twitch in his eye. “The lass had the gull to slip into an enemy camp, and even found the time to burgle a sword on her way out. I’ve haven’t seen much to disbelieve her when she says she got it.”

Cori gave him a grin. His word carried weight, and it meant just as much to her.

A firm grip tugged on her arm and pulled her off to the side. Thorin clasped a hand around the back of her neck. Despite the anxiety in his eyes, he smiled at her. It was to convey his confidence in her, and it certainly instilled some back into her as well. “An hour. We will storm the city then. I would prefer to have Ryone alive, but if it comes down to your life and his, do _not_ hesitate to take him out. No excessive risks. Wait in hiding until we come to the tower to get you. Is that understood?”

She nodded.

The king and leader melted out of his face for just a moment, and she got a brief glimpse of the true fear and sadness nestled within him. He brought their noses closer together, blinking eyes studying her face as if he needed to see every last detail. He looked so vulnerable. “I order you to come back to me. Don’t you even dare try to defy me. I…couldn’t live…”

She brought both hands up to his face, clasping his cheeks between them. “Well, you better. You get those boys home to Dís, Your Majesty. No matter what.”

He was so close. One small move forward, and she could have kissed him farewell. But this was not the time to mark him as hers in front of the army of dwarves following him. Only, he thought it was. He kissed her fervently, leaving no questions to be asked. She let him, hoping beyond hope that this would not be the last time she could.

With strength she did not know she had, she tore herself from him and backed away before she could reach for him again. She sent him and the others a poised smirk; they could not see how terrified she really was. And before any remaining self-assurance could fail, she tore off into the darkness, sprinting for the city.

The last time she had come to Annúminas, it was an eye-opener she could not have predicted. She was freshly a Shire escapee with an incredibly romantic view of the world instilled into her by books and stories. All the tales ended victoriously despite the dangers in them; bad things could not possibly happen that often in such an intriguing world. This city, with its crumbling walls and decay, showed her just how skewed such a view had been. Then she read up on its history in Rivendell while she recovered from her snake bite all those years ago, and she realized this world was even cruel enough to take out a mighty city like this. Its even mightier founders had been eradicated almost completely as well.

Now look what it had become. No longer just a humiliated ruin, but a house for warmongers and bigots. Dwalin was right. The Númenóreans would be appalled at what had happened here.

As guards blocked the main eastern entrance into the city, Cori slipped inside unnoticed through a crack in the outer walls. As she dropped onto the stone street, she kept an eye out toward the sentries posted by the gate. They were laughing, chatting, and swinging their swords around haphazardly; the smell of ale wafted strongly from that way. Unlike their counterparts the company met on the road, these Men swam in armor up to their necks. Brawny and armed to the teeth with a thorough knowledge of how to use those weapons in the most brutal way. She calculated that the worst thing that could happen is if they caught her. Her spine shivered at the screams and pleas for mercy that had haunted her memory for over a decade. It was a fate worse than death. Letting out a shaky breath, she checked the quiet and dark walkway and dashed down a side street.

The whole place smelled absolutely filthy. Could these Men truly lack attention to hygiene as well as actual hearts? Ryone had reduced his standards, it seemed. As she jogged between buildings, keeping an eye on the main road leading toward the center of town, she found traces of orcs: crudely-made weapons and armor lay about, but as many Man soldiers that walked along the street, there were no orcs here now. Not too far to the right from where she tread, the water of the lake had begun to rise and cover parts of the city. She would recognize the stink of fish anywhere. Combined with the lingering scent of orc, she was finding it quite difficult to get a breath.

She finally came to the circle in the center of the city, ducking behind a fallen stone spire to gather her bearings. There were more guards in the middle than anywhere else in the city. And they were _big._ All Men towered over her; as far as hobbits went, she was quite small. But this was an entirely new level. If these soldiers were able to take down three members of the dwarf king’s guard in less than two minutes, how long did Thorin’s new army have against this horde? She closed her eyes tightly. How many more deaths would there have to be before all this was over?

Suddenly, two patrols appeared from the left, clanking along with spears in hand, and Cori almost stumbled backward in shock. She did take a noisy breath of the foul air. Just as she hit the side of a building within the shadows, one of the guards stopped to inspect, glaring into the darkness with shining, beady eyes. The other was quick to follow suit. Cori held her breath, squeezing as close to the wall of her hiding spot as she could. _Oh, Giver, please help me._ Please _don’t let them see me._ Someone up there must have heard her because the soldiers gave up the half-hearted search and walked back toward the fire they had been marching for.

Cori released her breath. Her heart could not take much more of this, the poor old thing.

Back to planning her route. Only a few yards of land remained toward the castle before what was once a street dipped off into the lake. As she had recalled, however, the bridge leading to it was still above water. And it was as well guarded as she had anticipated. Alcohol did not soak into every surface this far inward. Getting to the tower would be trickier with a more sober barrier between her and her target. Cover was abundant in the square, but there was no such thing on the bridge. It was dark over the railing, though, with the water only a few feet below it. From where she stood, it was sidle or swim. Her stomach rolled at the latter option; sidling it was.

_I am absolutely out of my mind for these dwarves._

Crouching low, she scurried into the center of town, carefully avoiding the flickering fires that seemed to stretch forever across the darkness. Between rocks and pillar bases she went, keeping her booted feet as silent as they could be on the stone floor. The guards on the bridge were occupied with each other, not looking for anything beyond their torchlight. It was now or a much more problematic time later. She leapt out from behind a broken pillar and into the shrubs beside the bridge. There lay the water’s edge, tiny ripples sloshing up onto the slightly sloped ground. Making sure none of the soldiers in the circle were looking, she reached up for the railing of the bridge and jumped into a squat on the side. Taking a deep breath that released with yet another curse to the dwarves, she began to slide along the side with lithe slowness.

It was surprisingly easier to stay up than she first thought; the extra training with her bow had been handy in other occasions, it seemed. About halfway across, she began to feel the burn in her shoulders and the cramping in her fingers, but she ignored it. There was no turning back now. However, one look into the murky black waters below her and she almost decided to brave the chance of being seen in order to place her feet on dry land again. Deep in her mind, she heard Gandalf’s words: “No place for a hobbit.” _Damn right, it isn’t._

On the island, erosion had begun to carve a sheer drop from the grass to the water. The mud would make it nearly impossible for her to get any traction to pull herself up. She would have to take the chance of momentarily hopping onto the bridge after all, ducking into the tall grass on the other side. With a thrice count, she did just that, hissing some Khuzdul word she was not entirely sure the meaning of but figured it fit the situation when she noticed the two guards standing near the door to the castle. She, however, was in the darkness and remained out of view (or they had atrocious eyesight, which would explain why they had such an easy job). Once safely lying flat in the weeds, she let out a sigh and took a moment to compose herself.

She may have been on the wrong side of the island. The other was full of small buildings and rubble that would have worked for perfect cover all the way up to the mansion. Though her area lack structures, it was abandoned and void of any light apart from the moon, which was quickly being shrouded in clouds. Only one thing left to do, and it was what she did best: improvise. Sticking to the outer rim where the edge of the island tumbled into the lake, she sprinted as quickly as she could while the white light from above was gone. Of course, the good fortune that had followed her there so far lasted nowhere beyond that.

The walls of the house were heavily guarded on both sides of what she assumed was the long antechamber leading from the main door. They were less intimidating than the patrols wandering around, but if they were just as oblivious, oh, she might be able to create her own luck. With one eye on them and the other on her footing, she crouched low and crept toward the dark corner sticking out from the wider portion of the castle, almost over the edge of the land. Once within the shadow of the wall, she would be home free, at least until she was inside. After that, well, figuring out what to do with Ryone once she found him would be her greatest spontaneous challenge.

A hard, crushing pressure clamped around her left arm and yanked her violently. She rolled across the grass, a squeak escaping at the sudden impact, before coming to rest on her knees. In her intense concentration on reaching the corner without being seen by the guard nearby, she forgot to check her south. A tall man draped in a black cape stood over her, his malicious smirk bearing down on her. The cape was familiar, and she realized I was like the ones used during the sacking of Stonewall.

“What do we have here?” he growled, reaching for her again. Instinctively, she ripped one of her hunting knives from her belt and sliced at the intruding limb. It cut a horizontal line through the flesh and muscles of his forearm, and blood immediately began to leak as he clutched it to his chest. “Spiteful little thing, aren’t you, halfling? Some spark.”

Panic began to creep into the edges of her vision. She knew it could not be this easy. She knew Ryone.

Before she could lunge again, another hand wrapped around the wrist wielding her blade. Using far superior strength, it wrenched the weapon from her hand with a sharp twist, pulling a soft cry from her. Before she could recover from the pain, both her arms were pinned behind her back and held there securely.

“Is this it?” the one in front of her laughed, shaking his head. “ _This_ is what the dwarves sent in retaliation? I’ve never seen desperation quite like this. Cowardly bunch of crooks, the lot of ‘em.”

She snarled at him, trying to break free from her bonds. Cloth was securely tightened around her wrists. Whoever was behind her grasped a fistful of her hair and pulled. Her growl turned into an undignified yelp that echoed across the yard.

“Let’s go see what the master’s got to say about this.” Shaking his offended arm nonchalantly, the man motioned to his partner behind her before starting off toward the front door of the castle. The Man quickly disarmed her of everything on her person and led her by the hair and shoulder in that direction. She stumbled through the grass, barely able to keep up with the long strides of her captor with her restrictions. The urge to twist around and bite him in the arm was an iron one, but she feared the retribution; Ryone had never been above allowing his followers to be a bit rough with their captives. Once she was brought into the torchlight, a crowd of men and women surrounded her and her captors. Their reactions varied; some laughed, some sneered (knowing who she was with, most likely), and some just gaped in surprise. There was a great number of Big Folk in the world who still believed hobbits to be a myth, mostly in the southern countries where these Men hailed from. They easily misinterpreted hobbits’ influence by their size, and while she did not feel a hefty need to prove herself to this scum, she wanted them to know they did not trifle with unfamiliar things without consequence.

There was one, however, who knew exactly what she was capable of, and who she had no hope of fooling.

As she stood in the middle of the walkway in full view of the front door as it ground open, she felt fire and ice simultaneously pour into her body. She had tried. Oh, she had _agonized_ for years to put this…beast out of her mind, just enough to allow her to move on with her life. For a while, she had succeeded, and the likelihood of ever having to revisit that part of her life remained nearly nonexistent. At least up until a few months ago. Now, it was happening again, resurfacing like a torturous nightmare. The shadow that had invaded her unconscious mind, stealing into the soft, warm places she thought were safe. In her cozy camp where she thought she was alone with Shadow, creeping with her through the halls of the dwarves each time she stayed there, and invading her childhood home to taint her sweetest memories with darkness. He was there. He had always been there, ruining her life.

“Coronilla Houndberry,” the sickeningly smooth voice of Ryone of Rohan slithered over her skin like cool slime. The smile with which he regarded her could have been mistaken for fondness, but there was no love, no affection in this monster for her. There was only an investment, one he gained everything from while taking it all from her. He had a quiet authority about him as he emerged from the tower, established by his great height over everyone else. His straight blond hair, held back by a piece of leather, complimented his light skin. He was incredibly handsome in the eyes of his people, but _only_ to the eyes. His green ones danced over her with glee. “My, my, how you’ve grown. You were a tiny thing when last we met. How long has it been, sweetheart? Twelve years?”

Her mouth clamped shut. She only stared, her blue eyes blazing. Inside, she was sobbing and screaming and cowering.

“You were always a quiet one back then. Kept to yourself, though that was understandable, seeing as you were the only one of your kind hanging about.” He approached her, hands behind his straight back until he was standing before her. His smile still in place, he reached out and grasped her chin, brushing her jaw tenderly with his thumb. “But it was that silent determination that I knew would gain us much. It was beautiful, in a way. Captivating.”

She snapped her teeth at him, enduring the yank on her hair without a sound. The skin of her face crawled with disgust. But she managed to do nothing except widen that smirk. “There’s that fire.”

“We found her trying to sneak into the castle, sir,” her captor explained. “Caught her in the field just over there.”

“Did you now? No small wonder she managed to get that close. She was always a slippery one. I’m sure the years have worked well in honing those skills. And the dwarves are the ones making good use of it now, I see. Oh, I do love irony. What’d they pay you, lass? Was it worth it?”

Again, she just stared.

“Well, if she doesn’t want to talk, we’ll just see what her stumped companions have to say instead. Let’s go.”

The Man led his similarly-dressed comrades away from the tower and toward the center of town. Cori was tossed back to the man she cut, who now had bandaged his wound and possessed all the desire to subtly inflict payback. She winced at the hand in her hair, yet struggled with all her might against being dragged along, once again stumbling to keep from crashing to the ground. All along the way, her eyes thrust daggers into his back. “How did you know I was with dwarves?” she asked, biting her lip against the pain in her head and the quiver in her voice.

“Now you’ve remember your voice,” he chuckled. “As for your question, dwarves are not delicate in their tramping across the land as you are. An army of them are not easily missed by the sharp eyes of my spies. Neither is Thorin Oakenshield overlooked when he is taken prisoner in a town of Men.”

She gasped. They had been right about Overton.

“Yes, indeed. Your grand rescue didn’t go unnoticed either, just because you left no survivors. When no one but horses returned, we assumed the obvious.” He looked back at her, a predatory gleam in his eye; he was having way too much fun. “I was told you were the only one with him when you entered the town, and witnesses said you two were seen rather…close. There is more than just business where the dwarf king is concerned, isn’t there? A comradery only perhaps, if I know dwarves and their reservation to other races. Yet, maybe, it is possible… Well, at any rate, you were accepted into their fold, and that is information that I will indeed benefit from.”

This was what he did best: twist and twist until he got the results he wanted, even if they were not originally true. She had never seen a greater master of manipulation.

The walk across the bridge was painstakingly slow. As they finally came to the end of it, the sounds of fighting rose above the devastated buildings. Within the center of town, the dwarves were circled by Men. Cori noted, with a painful grip on her heart, that there were significantly fewer numbers than she left them with. For a moment, she felt faint, until she saw a group being led through the mass in their direction. Thorin, Fíli, Kíli, Dwalin, Hundin, and Hundin’s second-in-command. A breath of relief passed her lips.

Ryone stood at the top of the stairs leading down into the circle, and with a flourishing bow, he greeted the newcomers. “Welcome, Thorin, son of Thráin. I am Ryone, son of Tryone, from the Mark of Rohan.”

Thorin met his stare with a cold countenance. “I don’t care,” he called out, causing a rumble of laugher from the remaining army. “I don’t care where you come from and whose name you tarnish. I have come here to end something that I should have a long, long time ago: your life, and this hopeless, heinous cause you cling to.”

Ryone chuckled, genuinely amused. “Strong words, king. And strong threats. And what have you to back them up?”

“A people who are sick of the dirt they have been living in for centuries thanks to animals like you who belong there instead.”

This time, the blond Man guffawed, throwing his head back. “Oh, mighty lord, reality isn’t so mighty as you think. I see…a halved army that was woefully lacking to begin with and…” He held his hand out behind him. Cori’s leech took the cue, ignored her squirming, and led her entirely into view. “…a ferocious mouse who was not so quick to escape the cat.”

Thorin’s glare fell instantly when he looked upon the hobbit, eyes scrunching in silent despair. The mask, however, was expertly returned to its place. This time, it fell murderously on the one who addressed him. The rouse was broken, though, when Kíli shouted for her, only to be grabbed by Dwalin before he could lunge forward.

“Interesting indeed,” Ryone mused as he glanced between her and the troop with calculating eyes.

It left her entirely unsettled. She suddenly had a horrible feeling.

Ryone returned his attention to the group of dwarves standing at the base of the steps. “I feel our meeting has been long overdue, Master Oakenshield,” he said. “You are, after all, one of the main reasons for my…disagreements with your people.”

“Why is that?”

The Man clasped his hands behind his back, pacing sluggishly to the left. “Have you ever been to Rohan, my lord? A wide expanse of endless plains and hills as far as the eye can travel, if one likes that sort of thing. On the flip side, you see what _I_ saw: a desolate wasteland with little to offer but dust storms in a drought and deadly silence. Or a crumbling shack of sticks and mud, if you’re also like me. As it turns out, while my family sat in our pit surrounded by miles of nothing and shriveled up, I heard that the dwarves in the Blue Mountains were mining gold, iron, and gems until it was flowing out of their halls like a river. Trading back and forth with each other, they only get richer and richer. In Rohan, it seems one must be the king to live a considerably decent life. But the dwarves, well, even the poor have a bountiful table of food.

“Then King Thrór leads his people to a new life in Ered Luin, and the dwarves stand only to become wealthier as more and more halls and mines open up until the mountains are so poriferous, it would take only a shout for it all to collapse in on itself. So you see, Master Dwarf, I chose not to live with the lot I’d been given, and instead seek out a new one. Imagine what all that gold and silver sitting idle in your halls could do for people scraping in the dirt every day for a small coin. But, as they are wont to do when soulless and stone in all manners as they are, the dwarves would not stoop to _charity._ Oh, no. So there needed to be some…persuasion, and I think I found the trick.”

Thorin only seethed hotter and hotter as the story droned on. What a willpower he had when his hands barely shook in the containment of his anger. “Have you forgotten, then, why it was that Thrór came to Ered Luin in the first place?”

“Of course, not. But I assumed you, of all people, might be sympathetic toward those overtaken by a tremendous force. And yet, here I am, having to claim what I’m owed by force. All you had to do was make a simple donation the first time around. Like my little helper here.”

Cori jerked, the blow so physical he might as well have struck her with his hand. _No. No, no, no. Please._

The dwarves followed the Man’s gesture toward the hobbit, confused and wary. “What trick are you playing, scum?” Dwalin shouted, taking a menacing step forward. His approach was halted by a raise of Thorin’s hand.

Ryone gasped theatrically. “Oh, I see she hasn’t told you.” He grinned back at her. “And here I thought I’d earned at least a mention for all I’d done for you. Well, my friends, let me tell you another story, and this one you might be familiar with.”

“No,” Cori whimpered before she could stop it.

Ryone began a gradual descent down the steps. “Twelve—I believe we’re coming on thirteen years ago, I made a grand start to this endeavor of mine. It was a bumpy road, one that’s smoothed out since, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t make an impression. I left a footprint in one of your temporary settlements. Maven, if I remember correctly, a short distance from your humble abode, Your Majesty. It had been set up next to a small river by a group of dwarves from another city which we, _ahem,_ took care of. Attacked, burned, and pillaged of any goods that had escaped our grasp before, and hardly a thing was left from this lonely little settlement. But one…atrocity in particular stood out from the rest as news spread across Middle-earth. A cave of refuge turned into a tomb.”

“You!” Fíli cried accusingly. “You set that mine on fire and collapsed it with all those families inside! What kind of monster are you?!”

Ryone pressed his fingers to his chest. “Me? I didn’t throw the torch in there.” He removed his hand and held it out toward Cori.

She could not breathe. Her lungs were filled with smoke again, choking her and stinging her eyes until all she wanted to do was lie down and die. But she had the chance to do just that instead all those years ago, and she chose to let the strings mold her. Her legs shook beneath her, and her ears rang loudly. This was not happening.

The company nearly growled in unison. Dwalin was the loudest. “You’re sick if ya think we’ll believe that hogwash! What game are ya playin’?!”

Ryone bent down next to the hobbit, taking her chin between his finger and thumb and forcing her head upward. Her eyes immediately found a shining pair of blues down below. “Tell them, dear. You were very eager to take the torch, if I recall correctly. Tell them your enthusiasm for it.”

She could see it in those eyes. He was trying not to believe. He was making every excuse he could to ignore it. But there was doubt, skepticism, for he would not be alive if he did not leave every end result on the table. For all the times he had jumped to conclusions in the past, in this instance, he was right to be leery.

The screams of those dwarves, those _children_ , as they fought for their lives without any hope of escape. They echoed like a shout in the mountains, bouncing off the insides of her head with hammer stroke force. The smell of charred wood and blood filled her nostrils, and she coughed until she dry heaved. The heat—it was unbearable. Her fault. All her fault. She dropped to her knees, a choked whine falling from her lips. She was going to pass out.

“The truth comes out,” Hundin’s growl broke through her haze. “I had no doubt there was more to this halfling than we saw. She has been working with him this whole time, I’m sure. Leading us directly into his clutches from the inside, knowing all our moves and feigning friendship. _Amrad ai-menu_!”

“Enough!” Thorin bellowed, the fury of his voice carrying across the courtyard. Silence reigned, broken by a few chuckles from the Men behind Ryone and the sobs of the hobbit.

“Cori?” Fíli’s tentative voice called out to her. She did not hear. She could not feel. She wanted this to end.

“The dwarf speaks in half-truths,” Ryone said, rising to stand straight. “But there you have it. Do with that knowledge what you will in your own minds, and dwell in your final moments on the cunning betrayal of a hobbit.”

A spark burst in Cori’s breast. Pure, hot, consummate hatred burned a hole straight through her heart. Everything became red. With a hoarse cry of rage, she tore through her binds with no mind to the pain. Swifter than any could react, she grabbed the long sword of her captor and sliced upward, catching him in the face. As he went down, Cori swung blindly at Ryone, achieving deadly precision. It sliced through his thigh, and the leg immediately began to leak blood as he hollered and crumbled to the ground.

Chaos erupted.

The Men surrounding the dwarven army charged, laying into what was left of their foes with vengeance in each stroke. Cori found herself pressed upon by Ryone’s guards, their taller, larger frames rising above her like bears. They did not reach her in time before an enraged Ryone grabbed her by the hair and shoved her down the stairs. New pains blossomed all the way across her body as she tumbled down the hard stone. When she rolled to a stop at the bottom, a familiar face kneeled over her, a hand keeping her in place and checking for injuries. Thorin immediately took her by the hand and pulled her onto her feet. Yanking the blade from her grasp, he traded her a shorter dwarven sword. “Stay close.”

Too shocked to respond, she just nodded and gripped the hilt in both hands. They needed to get out soon. She needed to explain. If it was not too late.

Any thought strong enough to be voiced anyway was shut away when a bright light and powerful gust of wind fell over the courtyard. Cori almost toppled over again, clinging to Thorin’s coat as his strong grip took her by the waist. They both dropped to their knees while many others around them were cast off their feet. To the west, rising above the carnage of his own making, a figure stood in the middle of the pathway opened up in the wall of Men that previously held them captive.

A way out, and once more provided by Gandalf.

“Fall back!” Thorin called over the silence. Every dwarf was ready to heed it, taking off through the opening after the grey wizard who led them toward the road that disappeared into the Hills of Evendim circling the lake. Thorin dragged the hobbit with him, and she was suddenly boxed in between him and Fíli on her other side.

She wanted to go back. She wanted to finish what she had started, what she should have done all those years ago. The chance to rid this earth of his poisonous presence was there, and she let it slip out of her hand with the rest of her courage. Now it was too late. So many lives were lost between then and now.

And she knew that was not all that had been lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> Amrad ai-menu: death be upon you
> 
> Here it is. The great mystery behind Cori Houndberry. The shadow that's been following her since the very beginning. It couldn't stay warm and fuzzy forever, could it? (It definitely could, but this needed to happen). I'll warn you now. The upcoming chapters will be angst, angst, and just when you thought there couldn't be any more, ANGST! And I'm so excited. XD


	28. Breaking Down

“Run!” Gandalf hollered with more gusto in his voice than should have been possible for the man.

“Ah, the old days are comin’ back to me!” Dwalin clipped above the loud cacophony of stomping boots.

Cori still struggled to figure out where in Middle-earth he had come from, and how he always managed to find them when they needed him the most. At the same time, she struggled to put one foot in front of the other, but instinct forced her as far away from that city and the Man inside it as her exhausted body and devastated mind could get her. Pure terror was keeping her alive.

The Men from Annúminas ruthlessly gave chase into the Hills of Evendim. The wizard’s interference in the city hampered their pursuit at the start, but of those in the dwarf army that remained, most were injured. The terrain in the hills grew rockier and steeper, decreasing their pace further. It was all too easy for Ryone’s minions to catch up with them, and they were closing in fast.

Once out of the city, Thorin dashed away from Cori’s side to take charge of his kin. Suddenly overwhelmed by a wash of loneliness as she watched him go, Cori sought out Gandalf. He always radiated an aura of safety and assurance, like the comforting hand of a grandfather on her shoulder. From there, she remained by his side all the way into the mountains. “Are you sure you know where you’re going?” She could barely see into the darkness, a problem she knew the rest of those she kept company with did not have but one that left her feeling completely helpless as she relied heavily on the guidance of the crowd.

“Are you questioning me now, of all times, Miss Houndberry?”

“If we’re unknowingly trapping ourselves against a rock face anytime soon, I’d like to make some peace before I die.”

“There will be no need for that,” he huffed, stopping to monitor the back of the line as the dwarves scurried on into the cliffs. They stood on a ledge that peered into the valley below where the city sat, more awake than it had ever been in thousands of years. The glow of the torches within it was muddled through a curtain of water falling from the sky. Droplets began to sprinkle onto them as well. Below the cliff on the path they had just taken to reach that spot, flames bobbed in their wake. A bolt of lightning striking the ground to the west of the city lit up the steel brandished alongside them. So many. And too fierce. Cori tried to breathe through a new wave of distress.

“We can’t fight them anymore,” she panted. “They’re too many, and we’re too beaten. Dwarves can’t outrun Long Ones no matter how big they think they are.”

Gandalf grumbled and muttered, but within it, she could decipher a muffled agreement. He searched around blindly, clearly not finding anything he hoped would be there. All the same, Cori struggled to discover any hope at all. This was it. After escaping the bleak situation in the center of town, they were going to die in the dark on a mountainside. She looked up the path where the dwarves were moving into a walled-up pass, trapped in their own rock and stone. Stood on a ledge above them, ushering them through with loud, stable encouragements, Thorin caught her eye. He was still in a battle haze, and his gaze swirled in anger and ferocity. But not at her. Oh, not yet, at least.

“There is no other way out of the valley for at least two dozen miles,” Gandalf mused to himself, then looked up. His lips pursed in determination. “So we close this one.”

Cori followed his eyes. At first, she saw nothing out of the ordinary, and certainly nothing that would be useful to them. However, another flash showed her what he had seen. Above the path, a large boulder sat between the two walls in a rather precarious position. Cori grinned. One blow from Gandalf’s magic, and it would easily come loose, blocking the road with a barrier too high for even the sliest goblin to scale. “Perfect.”

“I must get higher.” Gandalf’s declaration was cut off by the loud, triumphant exclamation of the first Man at the head of the horde clambering up the hill toward them. The path was wide enough for two Men to stand abreast. Cori was the only one left outside of the passage. She could not fail this army again.

Stumbling around on the dark, rain-dampened ledge, she gathered as many rocks around her as she could. Gandalf stood next to the wall, one hand on it to begin his ascent for the boulder. Her stared at her, fear dancing in his blue eyes. For her. But she shook her head, weighing a stone in her palm. She had to buy him some time to get that rock down, or the wounded dwarves would be overwhelmed in the tunnel. He conceded, pulling himself up with surprising dexterity.

Quickly, Cori reeled her arm back and volleyed the rock into the first man that appeared at the top of the path. The blow struck him in the forehead, and he toppled over the side with a cry just as she reached for another. The next one fell into the wall before crashing to the ground. Immediately behind him, the others tripped over his body, creating a pile that halted the force for a moment. She laughed, throwing more rocks to grow the wriggling heap.

Suddenly, Thorin and Dwalin appeared, skidding to a stop just in sight of the mess on the trail. Thorin looked back in her direction, brows shooting up in surprise before narrowing at his find. “What are you doing?! Get inside!”

“I’m stalling!” She pointed up toward Gandalf. “Go back! I’m right behind you!”          

Dwalin’s hand clamped onto his arm, but he did not budge. For a long few seconds, Thorin watched her, several fronts of a war raging behind his eyes. She wondered if he would take her by the hand and drag her with him. But his eyes iced over, and he followed his cousin into the mountain pass.

A bright light flashed above her, then the ground shook. That would be her cue, she assumed, and without a second to spare. The soldiers had cleared the path of the bodies and began to swarm the ledge with savage fury. Cori sprinted as hard as she could into the passage. A flash of lightning showed a looming shadow growing bigger all around her. A gust of wind blew against the back of her neck, and suddenly, she was thrown off her feet, the impact on the hard ground jarring her aching body. A mighty earthquake growled behind her, and she closed her eyes, ready for the impact.

Then all was still.

The loud roar slowly dissipated into the almost gentle crumbling of small pebbles all around her. Even the shouting of the Men on the other side seemed too distant to focus on. But Cori lay in the quiet for just a moment, face pressed to the floor below her, letting her mind catch up. And there was too much at once.

It was out. All she had worked so hard to keep buried beneath years and years of guilt and resentment, pulled up like ugly weeds in a garden just beginning to take shape. And she was surprised? If her father had figured out what she had done (if only to a slight extent), why did she think the dwarves, the ones she wronged, would never discover it, too? She closed her eyes and tried to suppress the sob. It was all over.

A large, weathered hand lay gingerly on her shoulder, pulling her up out of the dirt and dusting her off like a child. “What a mad little hobbit you are, Cori Houndberry.”

“Gandalf,” she whispered, clinging earnestly to his robes. Her eyes blinked repeatedly against the sting in them. Even the resolute reliability he provided could not chase away the anguish rising in her. “What do I do, Gandalf? They know. What do I do?”

He wrapped a hand around her, holding her securely to his hip. A long breath left him slowly. “The only thing you can do, dear. Show them that the one they call friend is still there, that you are still that person.”

It would be a shot in the dark; they both knew _how_ to expect the dwarves’ response, but at this point, they were unpredictable.

Together, the two stragglers followed after the army, keeping a leisurely pace. The pass twisted and turned a few times, even cutting beneath an overhang that allowed them to view the valley below. After walking for a while, no longer in earshot of the defeated and furious army behind them, they came across the tail end of the group and filed in. Before long, they approached an opening on a ridge large enough for all of them to stand together in a wet, shivering, beaten clump. Opening up in the wall to the right was a cave. A few dwarves went in to scope it out as the survivors were counted.

The wizard and hobbit eventually moved up toward the front. Cori recoiled a little behind him. She could only briefly look at her four dwarves standing together as they tried to assess the damage of their efforts, just to assure herself that none of them were injured too severely. However, she was quick to avoid eye contact once they were spotted.

“More than half,” came Thorin’s venomous growl. “That is how many of us lay in that forsaken city.”

“Where is Hundin?” Fíli asked, glancing around uncertainly.

“Among them,” Dwalin replied, jaw visibly grinding. “I saw him get struck when they charged. Belvor lives, so he will lead them now.”

“We stay here and recover for the night,” Thorin announced over the escalating downpour.

“Is that wise?” Gandalf took a step closer as the dwarves began to enter the cave, Cori still stuck to his side. “We are so very close to the city.”

Thorin regarded the hobbit placidly. “I will hear your advice, Gandalf, for it has proven better than my own judgment in the past. But our wounded will not see us far, especially in this weather. Do you not trust your safeguard?”

“Precaution is all I was after. Fine. But we must be out of these mountains by tomorrow.”

“Agreed.”

Immediately, before Cori could turn to retreat into the cave, Fíli swept her up into a tight hug, as sodden as they were. “I have never been so angry as when that beardless monster touched you,” he rumbled in her ear.

She nearly collapsed into his embrace, relying on his sturdy stance to keep her up. “I’m…I’m all right,” she managed, realizing by her voice that she was shivering. Everything inside and out was numb.

He led her with an arm around her shoulders into the cave and did not release her even when out of the frigid weather. He set her down on a rock around the corner and out of the wind from the wide opening. At that time, Kíli appeared in front of her as well, kneeling and grasping her hands softly, rubbing them between his to warm them. He looked at her with a big, cheeky smile. So relieved. So blissfully oblivious. She could not take it anymore.

“I’m sorry,” she uttered, biting her lip against the quiver in it. She leaned against Fíli’s shoulder when he sat down next to her, exhausted. “So sorry.”

“Cori, it’s all right.” He soothed a hand across her back. His hairy jaw scratched against her temple. “It was our fault for sending you in there. You did your part, and you held your own against him. There’s no reason to apologize.”

She sniffed, feeling a contrastingly warm tear mingle with the droplets of water still slipping out of her hair. “There is.”

A cloak trimmed in fur, damp but warm, fell onto her shoulders, startling her. The weight of a hand lingered for a moment. “Get her warm,” Thorin’s voice conducted to his nephews, and the hand disappeared. “We must talk.”

The brothers bundled her beneath the coat as the king ambled around to her front. When he faced her, a deadpan expression greeted her, and somehow, she found it even more unsettling than an angry one. Then Dwalin came to stand beside him, and the pressure on her heart squeezed just a little tighter.

“What’s there to talk about?” Kíli asked, and the poor blessed lad looked genuinely confused.

“She knows,” Dwalin grumbled, crossing his arms.

“Oh, no.” Kíli scoffed, leveling a flabbergasted glare on the two of them. “Is this about what Ryone said? Come on! Are we really going to take some troll-brained lunatic at his word? This is Cori we’re talking about. How could she—”

“Halfling.”

Cori flinched, turning her gaze toward the apathetic yet wary face of her lover. He beckoned her to speak with just the set of his brow. Clenching her teeth until her jaw ached, she put as much stone in her mien as she could. If she was going down, she would do so with as much esteem as she had left. She nodded slowly.

“No!” Kíli leapt to his feet, and he scowled at her with wide, disbelieving eyes. “You…you just complied to appease him. You knew that if you disagreed, he would do something drastic.”

“If you’re going to be in court one day, lad,” Dwalin chided, “you best learn to read people better.” He stalked toward her, eyes watching her with precision, like he would a prisoner. “The guilt was in the weeping up there. Practically a confession.”

“There will be a verbal one.” Thorin stood over her in a like manner. She moved away from Fíli just a little; she would not cower now. “Say the words.”

“Everything he spoke was true.”

“The. Words.” He sneered, his face pained.

As square as her weary shoulders could sit, she stood before the king, watching him through her lashes with her chin tilted up. “I threw the torch into the cave.”

Behind her, Fíli murmured a quiet “no,” and Kíli walked off with his hands scrunched in his hair.

“So you worked for him?” Dwalin demanded, deliberately towering over her. She did not balk at the clear intimidation.

“Yes. There were extenuating circumstances…”

“We need only the answers to our questions right now,” Thorin interrupted. The pain in his expression was gone, smothered by the iron now set in it. The diplomat stood before her. “I assume you knew who we’ve been after this whole time.”

“As soon as the connection to the attacks twelve years ago was made to these, I had a hunch. Gandalf confirmed for me.”

“Mahal, that came up in Durmark,” Dwalin snarled. “All this time.”

Thorin took a step forward, filling in her view entirely with him. Sadness whirled in his eyes with the rising ire. “You lied then.”

“Hundin’s accusations were false. I didn’t know where he was until Gandalf said. A name wouldn’t have made a difference in the quest.”

“Any advantage is useful in war.” He leaned closer. “And you _lied._ ”

Her eyes fell to his chest; she could not hold his gaze any longer. “Avoided giving the entire story. I never spoke an untruth.”

Dwalin snorted. “You’re making excuses now?”

“I will gladly explain to you the full story, if you’ll let me.”

“That’s quite enough of that!” Everyone halted at Fíli’s stern intrusion, and all eyes fell on him. He stood beside her, bowing up to his uncle despite his shorter stature. “I would expect you to remember who this is. Has she ever given you any reason to believe she was deliberately deceiving you? It’s not hard to comprehend. After all this time, and so many campfires shared, and you immediately jump to conclusions?”

“Fíli, stop,” she told him, laying a hand on his arm. She would not bring undo wrath on the lad when he did nothing wrong, and he was quickly traveling that course. “You all deserve an explanation.”

“Later.” Thorin turned away, and with him, the conversation closed. Cori gaped at his back, feeling aggravation rise within her.

“I’m not going to plead for pardon. I just want you to hear my piece. But if you’d rather go and sulk with your imaginings first, don’t let me stop you.”

He twisted around and lunged for her with teeth bared, and his hand clamped around her wrist before she could move away. “ _Enough with the sarcasm_.”

Cori stood frozen beneath his flashing eyes, and she recognized this feeling. It had stolen her breath in Rivendell, when he grabbed her the same way and tossed her into a wall to interrogate her on what she had overheard. She remembered feeling as if the only thing keeping her from his wrath was the stout respect dwarves had for their women. It slunk into her mind again, and she braced.

The rage extinguished from his face like the flicker of a flame, and he blinked rapidly as if realizing where he was, who stood in front of him. Without another word, he whirled the other way and marched off toward the quiet army resting further in the cave. Dwalin trailed behind him.

“Unbelievable,” Fíli muttered. He spun around and flopped heavily to the ground with a sigh. “He gave her the bead and everything, that insufferable git…”

Cori heard little else than that. She turned and sat beside him, eyes straight. Her body felt heavy and without energy. She had truly done it this time.

“Brother?” Fíli called quietly, and Cori remembered that Kíli was there. She looked up hopefully, realizing he had not moved from his original spot. He just stared at the ground with a similar blankness to his face. The voice of the other prince jerked him from his stance. His eyes found her briefly before he stammered an apology, following after his uncle. Cori felt the pain as if a chunk of her heart had been ripped out with him.

Fíli sighed, leaning his shoulder against her. “He’ll come around. He’s just…confused. We never really thought we would have to choose against Thorin.”

She shook her head. “You don’t have to. He’s more in the right than I am.” Unable to control the shivers, she shrugged off the cloak (he had still given her his cloak) and began to work her soaked coat out from underneath it. “It was all true.”

“That changes nothing,” he replied, helping her to lift the cloak back onto her shoulders and fitting it around her body. “ _Should_ change nothing. They could see how you responded to the accusations, but they haven’t seemed to comprehend just how _terrified_ you really were up there. I don’t have to have witnessed countless battles to know when someone fears for their life. Thorin’s a fool if he didn’t see that, and an even worse one if he chose not to.”

“I still…did it.”

He huffed, tossing an arm around her neck and pulling her into his side. “When you’re ready to give your side, I’ll be there to listen, even if they aren’t. Until then, I won’t cast judgment. Now rest a bit. You’re exhausted.”

She lay her head on his shoulder, clenching her teeth against the threatening moisture in her eyes. _A just king. A merciful king. A compassionate king. He’ll be unlike any other._

They sat in silence for a long time, bringing no attention to the silent tears dripping off her face and her frequent little sniffles. Then he began to hum, mumbling a few words here and there with the tune, and it was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard. It echoed off the rocks of the cave in soothing vibrations; a few more voices answered further in. They carried her into sleep, the sweet nothingness bringing only a temporary relief.

When she awoke, she felt the warmth of another body on the other leg and hip. She strained her tight neck muscles to look over. Kíli sat there, eyes transfixed ahead of them once more with a blanket covering himself and her. The usual light in them was dimmed; he looked like a reflection of her, if she had to guess. Tentatively, clumsily allowing hope to bring ease to her mind, she reached out for the hand resting on his thigh. He glanced down at it in surprise, then found her face with a small, nervous smile. He did not grasp her hand in return, but let it sit on his thicker fingers. She could breathe a little easier from it.

“Did you know?” The three of them looked over to the left at the low growl. Thorin was almost toe-to-toe with Gandalf, arms folded over his chest. “You knew her before we did. Did you know about Maven?”

“Does it matter either way?” The wizard furiously puffed away at his pipe, though the relief it brought was definitely insufficient to keep up with the irritation of dealing with the dwarf king. “It would not have been my story to tell.”

“Why would she keep this from me—us?”

Gandalf stretched out his arms. “Again, Thorin, that is a matter to take up with her. But I can guarantee you there is a reason. You just have to be willing to hear it.”

“I am.” He stared at the ground, fists clenching. “Nonetheless, my decision afterward is not so straightforward, no matter what I hear. This is no longer a private matter.”

“You are the king. Your word will be what your people follow.”

“That does not change what is in their minds.” He sighed. “This could not have come up at a worse time.”

“War tends to complicate things.”

There was nothing more to say on Thorin’s end, and he retreated to run another check over the wounded soldiers receiving treatment. Old face wrinkled further with frustration, Gandalf removed his hat and walked toward the trio with agitated steps. When he noticed Cori’s eyes were open, he gave her a sad smile before settling down against the wall across from them, drawing in several deep breaths from his leaf.

She heartily agreed with Thorin. If he did not like what he had heard so far, he would not take kindly to her reasoning. An explanation would not be a quick fix to all their problems. But could she really hope to be an exemption? Once he cooled off, he might be more open to her. She was not an ordinary person in his eyes, right?

Her heavy lids cut into her thoughts and carried her off to wonderful dreams where she was not just another hobbit to him. To a warm, comfortable bed and sky blue eyes bursting with love.

                   ***************

They were going back to Ereven.

“Belvor doesn’t agree,” Fíli told Cori as they emerged from the cave into the sunshine, standing to wait for when their assistance may be needed with the wounded. “But even he knows we are low on supplies and won’t make it to Durmark with everyone surviving.”

“Much more reasonable than his predecessor.”

“I think he liked you more, too.”

“Well, there goes that, then.”

Nearly every soldier in the army wrestled some impediment as they filed out of their overnight shelter. They did not all include personal afflictions; if they were able to walk, they were assisting someone who had difficulty. The ingenuity of the dwarves showed as they established themselves ready for traveling. They tied together cloaks and shirts, then combined them with branches taken from nearby trees, and they suddenly had litters for those who could not walk at all. Walking sticks were passed around, and makeshift bandages were tightened. Despite the solemn image they presented, Cori had to grin just a little. Dwarves were incredibly resilient little machines. They would keep going and going no matter what stood in their way.

The waiting came to a halt when two of Thorin’s scouts returned. They brought news of a clear passage west which would lead them on a gradual slope out of the hills and back toward the Blue Mountains.  

“Wouldn’t the scoundrels just circle around to the other pass the wizard mentioned?” Belvor, the new general of Lord Avin’s army, asked. “Surely they must be on their way to cut us off by now. They will catch up before we make it out of the mountains.”

“You thought I came back alone?” Gandalf replied. “I should have expected you all to figure out Ryone was hiding in the ruins sooner than I did, but I suppose I didn’t expect you to lead a full assault in an unknown situation either. At any rate, I was only surveying the city from afar to understand the best approach that would eradicate the army quickly when I saw you all enter the gates. I was about a day’s ride ahead of soldiers from Mithlond. They should be descending on the city at some point, if there is anything left, though I’m sure Ryone is no longer there. They will intercept any pursuers we may have.”

“A little too late to the party,” Dwalin growled. His mood had not improved since he began rousing the warriors that morning. “Predictable.”

“We will use the opportunity we’ve been given. Let’s move.” With his booming voice that carried far beyond their little ridge, Thorin rallied their smaller troop together and initiated the long march to Ereven.

Cori tried to help where she could. After all, she was the one with the least amount of damage. While she certainly did not possess the strength to be holding one end of a pole with a fully-grown dwarf in the middle, she had enough stability to offer someone something to lean on. However, she barely moved past a greeting before she was given a side-eye and a curt refusal. The dwarven pride would seek aid from no one but their own, though that was hardly the root of the problem here. Cori let them be after a few tries, surprised she had not found herself at the end of a sword or ax so far. The devastatingly pathetic group could barely move as it was, so very little energy could be used executing the “traitor,” or so had her new name become.

She would never get the opportunity to spring any traps, however, had she devised such a ridiculous idea. Not with that scorching stare pinning her down the whole day. She met it once. Dwalin repeatedly turned back to keep her under vigilance, especially since Fíli walked with her the entire way. There was no true malice in his gaze. Just duty. On the one hand, it was flattering: he thought her capable of pulling a fast one on them and succeeding. Contrary to that, he _expected_ her to. She knew he would be angry, and fully accepted that he had the right to be. But he had not heeded Fíli’s words at the very least. Had she had any ill will toward them, she would have dashed away with Ryone and his ilk. Did he actually think she had faked _all of it_?

Again, more flattery she did not want, and certainly did not deserve. Absolutely _none_ of it had been fake.

Oh, Fíli. The beautiful lad chose to be a fool. By Mahal, he would make sure everyone knew just what he thought about their attitudes, but not with words. He had no need to speak his mind, though the first person to challenge him would certainly get a piece of it. He never left her side. Every now and then, his hand would find hers, if only briefly, giving it an encouraging squeeze. There were those in particularly who he wanted to make a point to; when Thorin looked back to ask for a word with him, the prince lifted his chin and clasped his fingers around hers. Where she expected a jealous fire to erupt, she saw sad resignation, and that was _much_ worse. She pulled her hand from Fíli’s and pressed it to his back. “Things won’t get better if you put up a fight all the time. This isn’t exactly a debate to take sides on.”

He released a hard sigh before nodding, pressing a kiss to her temple as he strode toward the front. As he did so, Kíli looked back at her and reduced his pace. He took up his brother’s spot, hands nervously shuffling through his pockets. “Are you all right?”

“How exactly should I answer that?”

He looked down at her. “You’re not hurt, are you? I know it’s a little late to be asking that, but…”

She smiled. He was trying. She had to give him that. “I’m all right, Kíli. Don’t worry about me. Just get your kin the help they need.”

He nodded, sparing her a twitchy smile before striding back toward his family with hefty strides of his long legs. It made her uncomfortable, watching him so torn about where he should be. Then Fíli sent him a pouty glower before ending his conversation with Thorin and returning to her side. She _really_ felt ashamed then. The last thing she wanted was to tear those two apart. They were the most important things in the world to each other. And she was not a worthy enough cause to separate them.

Surprising them all—Thorin insisted that Gandalf pull out a map to confirm any landmarks—they came to the base of the Hills of Evendim at dusk. The conditions of the wounded had not deteriorated, and many of the more medically inclined got to work ensuring that nothing went awry in the night. A few fires blazed against the rock walls they sheltered against, and that left one last thing to address.

“Who’s makin’ supper?” Dwalin broke the question just as things had begun to settle down with the disappearance of the sun.

Fíli cleared his throat, and Cori tensed. “How about the same person that’s been doing it since we left Erebor?”

The hobbit shrank beneath the stares that fell on her. They were not all friendly.

“That wouldn’t be a popular idea,” Dwalin said, and she noted how he did not outright refute the suggestion.

“You would consider allowing the halfling to do it?” said Belvor’s new second, one who clearly favored his former general’s perspective. He had no intentions of hiding his thoughts in front of her either.

“I don’t think it’s such a bad thing to allow the one who knows the most about cooking to do it,” Fíli argued, taking a step forward. “It’d be done quick and right. I wouldn’t trust _yours_ to give to my dog, Garith.”

And, of course, an uproarious quarrel began that was equal parts humorous and distressing. For a moment, Cori was certain someone was going to lose a few beard hairs. Then Thorin’s voice rose incoherent above the banter, and all grew silent.

He had been there the entire time, watching the dispute wordlessly until tempers had taken any intelligence out of their justifications. Bizarrely, his face was pointed to the ground as his thoughts ground through his head. Finally, he looked up, and for the first time since the night before, he met her eyes. They were blank and disinterested, entirely lordly in a moment of establishing authority. But they were not angry, nor cold. He sighed. “Would you?          

Immediately, she nodded, cheeks heating at the eagerness in the gesture. “Of course.”

And that settled that. It was only a simple stew; they were low on supplies, having lost their stocked wagons on the other side of Annúminas. But Cori took it as an opportunity. There was something humiliating about wanting to prove oneself to gain acceptance. She had never had to do such a thing, ever. And yet, it seemed to be of the same importance as a necessity for life.

Thorin made a point to be the first to eat, especially when the others looked warily at her “cauldron of witch’s brew,” or so the looks said. They followed his example, though still wary with their bites. After all had had their rations, Cori left the cleanup to others at their behest, following after Thorin when he walked off toward a nearby stream with his water skin in hand. She made sure to make plenty of noise with her boots; he had been on edge all day with the threat of an ambush.

When he knelt down beside the stream, she halted. While she knew she needed to speak to him about something, prompting her urgency in following him, now she had no idea what to say. What _could_ she say that she had not already?

“Thank you,” she blurted out, mildly confused but deciding to go along with it.

He tilted his head back toward her before retrieving his skin from the water and rising back to his full height. “For?”

“The vote of confidence back there. I was surprised you let me do it.”

“You had all the time in the world to poison us, if you wanted to.”

That was an incredibly sensible confession, considering how he had been acting toward her so far. “So does that mean you’re ready to listen to my story?”

He sighed, dropping his head into his hand and digging his thumb into his temple. “One thing at a time, please. I’m trying to make sure I don’t lose anybody here.”

She would surely burst if she had to hold on any longer. The gap between them was doing a splendid job of drawing out the suspense, now preventing her from reaching for him in this moment of privacy as she would have in the past. She wanted to scream. “Thorin, I need to know where we stand.”

He scoffed. “That seems like such an easy answer to give, doesn’t it?”

“You’ve _never_ had any trouble speaking your thoughts in the past. What’s holding you back now?”

“I don’t know what to think, Cori!” he burst out suddenly. “There! Those are my thoughts! I just don’t know.”

She stood beneath the weight of his eruption, trying to keep herself composed. It had been foolish, she knew, to hope that things would be clear once the initial emotions passed. He had been burning with hatred for Ryone and the atrocities his Men committed just in that night, and he saw nothing wrong with taking his frustrations out on her after her revelation. She was willing to take it as penance. Now, she had to concede that maybe her period of penance had not ended quite yet, and that the extension was well-deserved. It still hurt.

“How can I help you know?” she murmured, the desperation clear in her voice.

He breathed heavily, jaw grinding audibly. “Will your explanation take less than five minutes?”

“No.”

“Then we’ll just have to leave it here for now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are. But there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“What makes this such a difficult time?” she asked, feeling lost from his conversation with Gandalf the night before. “What’s in the dwarves’ minds now that wouldn’t be any other time?”

“The soldiers were there in the city. They heard and saw what went on. Word will spread once we reach Ereven, and that could bode ill for you and the cause.”

“How?”

“They saw us kiss. They know about us.”

“And it bothers you now that we’re out in the open?”

“You know what they’ll think if I pardon you without consequences,” he hissed. “What it’ll look like. I could have insurrection on my hands.”

“I don’t want to cause trouble,” she muttered, suddenly feeling very small in spite of what she had just heard. “I just want _you_ to understand.”

He shook his head. “Whether or not I do, it won’t make a difference. I could give you the benefit of a doubt, but if some people prefer ‘justice,’ then they will clash with those who remain loyal, and that will not be how we defeat Ryone. All the soldiers in the world won’t make a difference if they aren’t unified. You’ve put me in a very compromising position.”

She clenched her eyes shut. This had been what she was afraid of. Meddle with kings, and the ramifications would be tenfold. She knew it would come to this eventually, the reality of who he was and what that meant for her. She just had not expected it to be this soon. She wanted a little more time with him. “Just know I didn’t _want_ to kill anyone.”

“I don’t believe you’d _want_ to. But the fact remains that you did. Walk back with me. We’ll be bedding down soon.” He tugged the cloak just a little tighter around her, and she remembered that she had worn it all day. “Keep this for now. And stay close to Fíli. He’ll keep you warm.”

She gritted her teeth together, fiercely fighting the urge to cry. She had no definitive answer of what she could or could not do now. He may allow her to lean into him for just a moment, feeling his warmth—the warmth she really wanted. Or he might push her away and continue to give her the cold shoulder as he had all day. “I don’t know either, Thorin,” she whispered, wincing at the involuntary sniff. When she looked up into his eyes, she found them no longer cold, but whirling with a mixture of emotions. “I don’t know.”

He sighed, laying a heavy palm on her cheek. “I meant it,” he murmured back, softly and sincerely. “In Bag End, when I lay over you, our flesh still coupled, I spoke words that I cannot and will not take back.” His cheek pressed to the side of her head. “I will love you until I no longer take breath.” A feathery kiss brushed against the joint of her jaw, then he was suddenly no longer there, striding back to camp with tense shoulders and hair concealing his face.

She cared nothing for the butterflies in her stomach when she thought of his smile, or the tingle in her skin where it touched him. His love for her endured, but it was tainted now. She lost the most valuable thing she had from him, something she gained not out of affection but deeds deserving of it. She lost his trust. And there was nothing after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.  
> Things could only go downhill from where they were. And trust me, this is killing me, too.


	29. To Sell My Soul

Two weeks they walked, lugging their wounded behind them. Consistent prayer rose up toward Mahal to allow them to reach their destination before any succumbed to their injuries. The quick and competent healing of those with the touch saved the entire group from infection (though that could also be attributed to the general durability of the patients themselves). Gandalf made sure to do some magic that would give them the strength to continue despite the pain. They slowly began to mend along the way, at least to a point where most of the litters could be tossed aside. Their pace started slow, but the strength of the mountains before them refreshed their spirits and boosted their march as they drew closer. To add to their good fortune, their path remained clear of orcs or Men. They seemed to have the favor of their maker in that time.

Things remained the same, in that they were noticeably different. Whereas Cori jumped at every opportunity to engage in campfire chatting in the past, tossing in a few jokes and stories along with those she sat with, now she remained silent. Her time during their journey was spent in quiet observance, watching how the dwarves seemed to enjoy their own company despite the pressing circumstances. And then she noticed the joviality of those she shared a fire with was muted more so than the other half dozen or so around them. She hardly wanted to cover anybody with her little thundercloud, but at the same time, she wanted them to _tolerate_ her. She did _not_ want to be alone out here.

Dwarves were quite vocal about their feelings, and just as they felt no need to hide the looks that clearly warned her she could no longer be trusted, they had no fear of her overhearing their conversations with her as the topic, and not in a favorable way. What could she do in retaliation anyway? But it was never _her_ dwarves involved in the talks, if she could still call them that.

The entire time they aimed for Ered Luin, she received no go-ahead to begin explaining her side of the story. It was as if they were content with what they heard and would continue to pass judgement based on that. The army she could understand; they had only a few days of being in her presence before the battle to go by. Gandalf knew most of it, which was enough to make a judgment call that followed his partiality toward hobbits. But the ones she had traveled with for _months_ made no effort either. Kíli still teetered between his loyalty to his uncle and his willingness to try to understand her, so he would not broach the subject. Fíli was of a mind not to force her into anything. Dwalin just wanted to sulk; he would wait on the word of his king and make a decision based on that.

Thorin, the stubborn git, made use of his excuse of seeing to his kin’s safety as a disguise to stall for time. He was trying to come to some kind of conclusion before he heard her, though what there was to determine without knowing the facts, she could not comprehend. Whatever made him waver, it was pissing her off. She accepted that she deserved their fury, once they knew everything, but drawing on the word of the _enemy_ alone was just unfair. Eventually, it came to the point where she just did not want to bother. If he wanted to know, he would ask. Clearly, he did not. Why waste the energy?

_Because it’s tearing you apart inside._

The dwarf made a habit of doing that. What else was new?

On the fifteenth day after the battle at Annúminas, the pathetic little army came to the high gates of Ereven, and morale boosted higher than the moon. The city greeted the soldiers with energized praise, though that was only brief once they realized the extent of the injuries. As they walked further beneath the mountain, a dark-haired dwarf emerged from the crowd. Thorin immediately approached him and accepted the slight bow with an incline of his head.

“We’re glad to see you well, my king,” Lord Barres greeted. “The raven you sent gave us a fright.”

“Have the healers been prepared?” Thorin asked, exhaustion almost noticeably stealing the strength from his usually solid voice.

“Yes, they are. We will see to them at once so they may return home as quickly as possible. Surely things are in an uproar at Durmark. But for now, we have arranged your accommodations at the congressional hall as before. I’m sure you all could use a rest.”

Once all of the soldiers in need of aid were led to the infirmaries, Barres showed the company, Belvor, and the wizard to the hall they stayed in the last time. Things looked different than they had then, though nothing had actually changed. Just their eyes had a whole different perspective. There was little of the joy they had on the first visit at finding the place in good standing. As they walked through the streets, Cori kept her gaze from slipping to the festivities hall and her mind from reviving the events that took place that night. Wasted time, she wanted to say looking back, as she had not had the pluck to go after what—who—she really wanted at the time. But really, how much better could it have all turned out to be? It was like a dream, until she woke up.

As they approached the large house carved into the rock wall of the mountain, Cori was suddenly hit with a startling thought that, maybe, she would not be received in there. But Fíli still hung close, walking with his shoulder just behind her in a gesture very similar to herding. It was a message to her and to everyone around them: she would be coming in by decree of the crown prince. Nobody but Thorin had the authority to override his rules, and the king continued to ignore her as he had most of the journey to Ereven. Surprisingly, no one even made an attempt to bar her from entering.

This was worse than screaming, demeaning, and anger. Those were predictable reactions of dwarves. Their baffling calm was excruciatingly unnerving.

“We will reconvene for supper,” Thorin announced to the group just before they would be split off for an escort to their separate rooms. As he did so, he met every eye that gave him their full attention. Even Cori’s. It was enough to know she had an invitation. Hope rose in her. Finally, she may have her chance.

Her attendant, a young girl with an excellent start to an impressive full beard of red, led her to the same chambers she occupied before for a soak. Her grin was innocent and oblivious, yet it still allowed the hobbit some indulgent assurance that, somehow, things were not entirely botched up.

Her bath smelt of a lovely blend of herbs and blooms, and the water scalded her filthy skin in the best way, yet she struggled to muster the latitude to enjoy it as she usually would. Her mind, the treasonous dolt, veered toward the eyes of her beloved. Withdrawn, indifferent, yet unable to push aside the consuming sadness long enough to keep her from seeing it. How easy he was to read now; it was a wonder she had ever missed it before. And, of course, this new ability came at a time when she did not _want_ to see such things on his face. But there they were, and she was the cause.

He said he loved her still, and yet, she could not help but wonder where such a thing could come from. She deserved his hatred. He had every right to know her involvement in the slaughter of his kin, no matter what the circumstances had really been. All that time they spent together in private, and he never failed to open up his heart to her. He spoke of the deep things that plagued him: his self-doubt, his supposed failures, his weaknesses. She had been on a fast track to learning more about him than she knew of her own siblings.

And neither had she held back either, answering all his eager questions. She realized that, had the right question come up, she would have confessed everything; it was terrifying, the power he actually held over her. When he spoke of her willfulness, he may have been correct concerning when they first met, but now? He could have her eating out of his palm, if he really wanted to.

But she never could bring herself to voluntarily say the words. To lay on him her ghosts as he did her. And why? Because she anticipated what was happening at the moment.

Now he was debating with himself whether or not to trust her, and that essentially concluded any relationship they had been working toward. There could be nothing without trust. The companionship was gone, replaced by just a common understanding of looking out for one another as they attempted to make it to Ereven with everyone alive. Like a king and a loyal follower. And maybe that was what he was trying to get across when refusing to hear her story. It was over, whichever way this went, because she had broken that trust. She just needed to be made aware of that before getting her hopes up.

And this was what happened when one sought things they could not have. A swift slap on the wrist and a reminder that she could not touch.

Yet, as she rested her head back on the edge of the tub and felt the hot tears trickle down her temple and into her ears, she realized what kept Thorin so near, and yet just out of reach. It was the same thing that drove her to revive what she decided on the night of the festival in this very city all those weeks ago. However this plight ended, without a doubt, she would still offer herself as Thorin’s friend. An ear for something he could not tell anyone else. A sincere encouragement when he needed it. Whether or not he accepted, she would be there.

_This_ was love.

A gentle knock on the door exploded like fireworks in the silent room, and Cori choked on her quiet sobs. “Just a minute,” she called with as much strength in her failing voice as she could, dunking her head beneath the water for a quick solution to her wet, red cheeks. As she scrambled out of the tub and dove for a towel, she harbored some kind of optimistic illusion that it _just might be him._ She quickly forced that away. With her towel wrapped around her body, she pulled the door open. She was taken aback a moment when, while expecting someone of mutual height, she found a belt tied around grey robes. She looked up, smiling at the pleasant face of the wizard.

Gandalf stared down at her with a soft, sympathetic expression. How detestable that she actually needed it. “I suppose I could come back later,” he offered.

“No, no. Come on it.” She opened the door wider and pushed it shut behind him. “I’ve been with dwarves for six months. Modesty’s irrelevant anymore.”

He chuckled, glancing around her chambers as she disappeared behind a dressing screen. “It wasn’t just your lack of dress I was referring to. Soap in the eyes does tend to turn them red and puffy.”

She huffed. Well, it looked like she had a lot of work to do before she could present herself before her dinner companions. “Honestly, Gandalf, it’s nothing. Just…finally found a moment alone.”

“I understand.” He was in the same spot she left him when she returned out from behind the divider with a clean change of clothes on. His countenance had not altered either. “They are a little ruffled.”

“What’d you expect? They’re dwarves.” She sighed. “And every bit in the right, I’m afraid.”

“It surprises me just how attached they’ve become to you. Fíli and Kíli enjoyed Bilbo’s company, as far as I could see, while the others tended to view him as, well, the extra. Up until a certain point, that is. But they’ve truly taken a shine to you.”

She shrugged. “I guess they’re crazy old kooks, too.”

He shook his head with a laugh. Then his face fell into seriousness, and Cori braced for impact. “Have I interpreted correctly what’s happened between you and Thorin?”

No one pulled the rug out from under a wizard. She nodded. “It was a dream, but that’s all it was or ever will be. I went and bungled that right up. That’s what I get for playing with fire.”

“All is not lost yet, little one. That fondness we were just speaking of may yet save you from the end you think has come.”

Time to change the subject. “So what did you want to discuss when you came in here?”

He obliged the deflection. “I find I must depart tonight. There are things elsewhere that need my attention. But rest assured, I will not abandon what’s happening, especially after Annúminas.”

She nodded. The fidgety wizard could never manage to stay in one place for more than a night. She finally found someone worse than her. “Thought that might come up sooner or later. Mind having a companion?”

He narrowed his eyes playfully. “This is not something you can run from, Cori. Only wind can blow the clouds away from the sun, and this is a gust you must conjure yourself. That is the only route to a positive end, unless you have resigned yourself so wholly to this outcome.”

“You meddle too much. And by the Valar, speak like a normal person and not a storybook character.”

He chuckled, brushing his gnarled knuckles over her cheek before turning toward the door. “So I’ve been told.”

“Goodbye, Gandalf.”

He smiled sadly, flipping his hat back onto his head. “Goodbye, my dear hobbit.” His beard shifted with his frown as he slipped out of the doorway, closing it softly behind him as if he had never disturbed it in the first place.

He meant well, and she knew better than to fault him for trying to help. But there was more beneath the surface that he did not know. Moons and moons of laughs, confessions, and many, many chances to _talk_ that would work against her instead of help her when trying to say her piece.

                *********************

Cori desperately wanted to request her evening meal be brought to her room so she could hide away in false comfort until morning when she would be forced to see _anyone._ Night fell early with overcast skies blocking the sun from reaching through the city’s western-facing windows above the gates. After everything that had happened, she was perfectly within her rights to ask for an early night to get some sleep. But she had to make an effort. She may have a chance tonight.

Torchlight lit the way through the passages as she, as presentable as she could be, trudged heavily and hesitantly to the dining hall. She spent far too much time trying to convince herself to open the door and leave, so she hoped she was not late. However, when she arrived to the hall and walked through the doors held open by two guards, she found only half the participants there. And, bringing her great relief, two of them had beaming faces to greet her.

Fíli hopped up from where he sat on the bench and pulled her into a firm embrace. _That_ embrace that she loved so much. “We haven’t started yet, so there’s plenty to satiate that hobbit appetite.”

She smiled, unwilling to smother his excitement by confessing that she had very little desire to eat tonight.

Belvor was the third occupant, seated on the other side of the table with a pipe in hand, and he gave her a rather respectful nod when Fíli placed her between him and Kíli. The younger brother bumped her with his shoulder, his usual cheery countenance in place. “You look chilly.”

She grimaced, tugging her fur jacket a little closer around her body. “Your halls feel like wine cellars, despite how much sightlier they are. It’s a wonder you all don’t walk around with icicles in your beards. Where’re the others? I’d like to eat and get back to my bed before my feet freeze to the floor.”

“Well, that’s your fault for not wearing shoes, you imp,” Fíli chuckled.

“It’s May. I’m less inclined to cover my feet when the grass is green, even if I can’t _see_ the grass.”

Breaking the idle chatter, the doors creaked open and allowed Thorin and Dwalin to enter the room. The burden had lifted from the set of their shoulders, and there seemed to be fewer lines in their faces. Belvor led the way in rising as the king found his seat, though Thorin waved them off as he settled into the chair at the end of the table. A very small grin twitched in his beard. “I have little inclination toward decorum tonight. Have at it.”

And they did so, digging into the substantial spread sitting in the middle of the table taunting them all after weeks of sparse rations. Cori nearly lost a bit of drool from her mouth when she forked a couple slices of thick turkey onto her plate, along with a few chunks of potatoes, and a hearty soup thick with a variety of meats and some diced tomatoes. Her first bite of fresh buttered bread nearly had her moaning, but tonight’s theme was bringing as little attention to herself as possible. Best make all the effort when she was the odd one out in the room.

“You been to see them, Belvor?” Dwalin asked, muffled by his latest excessive bite.

The general nodded. “The soldiers are no worse than when we saw them at noon. Some’re improving quickly with the rest and a decent spot of food. The mountain seemed to be the right medicine. Although, now that the healers’ assistants have spent time by their sides, well, the sparks fly, as it were.” His eyes darted toward the hobbit before focusing on his plate.

Cori glanced toward Fíli, brow knitted. “What’s he talking about?”

The boy swallowed somewhat nervously. “The soldiers in the infirmary. They’ve begun to…talk, about things.”

Well, that was expected. She shrugged. “I’m used to chatter behind my back. Happens every time I show my face at home.”

“These aren’t hobbits, Cori,” he murmured softly, timing his words while Belvor distracted the king with loud talk of provisions for the journey home. “It’s best you stay in the congressional halls and away from the public.”

She already felt an agitating itch in her legs just from hearing that. Unlike Durmark, this place had no balconies on the outside except the guard posts just big enough for the guards themselves. The walls would begin to close in quickly, the hard stone imbedding cold into her feet. It almost made her sick.

A few moments of quiet, modest conversation passed as they nearly cleared the food from the table without a hint of trouble. At last, the clank of Thorin’s fork on his plate drew attention from all in the room. Just as Cori looked up at the noise, she met his eyes. Looking away was difficult. He nodded to her, briefly holding out a hand. “Miss Houndberry, you have the floor.”

It took her a few seconds to realize what he was talking about, and that he was certainly not insinuating that she _sleep_ there. She set her soup spoon back into the bowl, gnawing vigorously on her bottom lip. This was it. Anything could happen after this, and she would only be grateful that she had been heard. “What do you want me to say first?”

“Why’d you do it?” Dwalin all but growled, the sneer on his menacing face sending a shiver through her body. She had not feared him like this since they first met.

“No,” Thorin interrupted before she could open her mouth. “All of that will come in time. Start as far back as you need to, Cori.” He leveled no harsh scowl on her, keeping his face mellow and open, as if he were interacting with a skittish child. But it was a sign that he would listen and try to understand.

Taking a sip of wine (wishing for the heat of ale instead to give her a push), she cleared her throat and sat up. “When I was nineteen years of age, my younger brother Garthor fell ill. This sickness was like nothing we’d ever seen before. There weren’t any visible signs on his body, only the symptoms of a fever constantly burning _something_ in him. The disease was rotting him, since he couldn’t remain conscious long enough to eat anything worthwhile. For four months, he was laid out in bed. My mother spent every day brewing a tonic that would bring him relief from the pain just long enough so he could eat and get a small dose of restful sleep. All the vegetables we sold at market went to buying the ingredients for the brew. Neighbors would be very kind, lending help when they could, but they had families of their own and hadn’t the means to support us. We couldn’t survive that way long. So I left.

“I had no knowledge of the world, like any young hobbit just entering their tweens. All I’d known was my little riverside town and the journey south to visit kin. But I was determined to help my brother. So I took up fur trading, sending every coin I didn’t feed myself with back home to help my family get by. They didn’t like what I did, but they saw the need and gave me as much support as they could.” She took a breath, focusing on the hand grasping hers beneath the table to keep her mind straight. “The third spring after I left, I landed in Bree on a return trip home to visit. While I was there, I heard about an apothecary, a man with a talent for medicines and a lot of favors to ask for anyone willing to trade for a remedy. Everyone in town assured me that he was the real deal. His tonics worked. But when I asked about the nature of the service he asked of customers, no one said a word. An obvious warning, I know, but…this was my baby brother. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to save him.

“Well, you probably guessed that the apothecary was Ryone. He was a little shocked to see me approach him since the Bree-hobbits usually avoided him. As it was, he was charming and persuasive. And after talking with him for a long time above Garth’s symptoms, he prescribed a tonic. He seemed to know exactly what I needed. And, of course, my payment was my name on a contract, binding me to his service. That was it, you know. That was his way of recruiting back then, when no one really believed in his cause. Anyway, I rushed back home as fast as possible. And, by Yavanna, if that draught didn’t work almost immediately. Within days, Garth had recovered completely, and hasn’t shown any sign of the sickness to this day. So I went back.”

“You should have run then,” Kíli murmured darkly, his eyes transfixed on the table as he listened.

“I was twenty-two, when hobbits come of age at thirty-three, and nowhere near an adult yet. Naïve little me, I thought I had to honor my agreement, no matter what.”

“You were that young?” Fíli asked.

She nodded.

“Ryone, then,” Thorin urged. His face had not changed a bit.

She swallowed. “The shadiest of employers I’ve ever seen. Told you just enough to fulfill the job, leaving you blissfully ignorant to the consequence that might come up. For about a year, he had me doing nothing but sneaking into taverns and listening in on conversations. He told me certain words to look for—I didn’t know what they meant—and I was to report back to him if I heard them and in what context. He didn’t call on me often, so I never got the big picture. It all went over my head most of the time. Until my last job.” She clenched her jaw at the sting behind her eyes. “I’d been at the camp by the stream selling my wares when he showed up. I hid most of the time, but once I was chased out into the streets, he found me. I’d never seen such a wicked grin before. He took me to the mine entrance where the dwarves were, blocked inside, and he handed me the torch. Through a hole onto a pile of wood, he said. I refused, tossed the torch into the stream. But he grabbed me by the throat.” Her skin ached from the bruises that had colored her neck for many weeks following. “This would be it, he told me. If I did this one last job, my debt would be paid. If not, he’d take my life to fulfill it. And…I took the coward’s way out.”

She jumped up from her seat, suddenly suffocated by the rock all around her. Air. She needed air. After pacing a few times, unaware of how strained her gasps sounded, she halted when she collided with a chest, pinned there by strong arms. Through the dark swirls dizzily spinning in her vision, she could see the golden hair that brushed over her face and the scent of bath herbs from it. She snuggled closer, nuzzling into his collar as she locked her own arms around his back. “I can still hear their screams,” she whispered, her body trembling. “When I wake up from nightmares, it’s always their cries of pain and anger. And I caused it. _I’m_ the reason they’re dead.” She sobbed into his shoulder, her sniffling loud in the silent room. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hush,” he murmured tenderly, stroking her hair.

She felt another hand on her back and the familiar pressure of more slender fingers. It was enough to give her back some control. She needed to stop this pathetic sniveling. He was winning with each tear she shed.

He had conquered her life for so long. She would not allow him any more of it.

Taking in a shaky breath, she pulled away from Fíli’s embrace and pawed at the wetness around her eyes. Despite the comforting presence of the brothers practically surrounding her, she still stood in the middle of a quiet room with three other dwarves waiting. She faced the table, looking them in the eyes. All three mirrored each other: the same troubled expression covering swirling thoughts. But they were not pointing fingers, or accusing. Thinking was good. Thinking might save her life.

Finally, Thorin spoke in a coarse voice as if from disuse. “What did you do then?”

“Ran. Picked back up with my furs and disappeared into the wilderness. My family didn’t appreciate how I’d still left the Shire after all our problems were solved. I couldn’t tell them what I’d done to get the tonic. Most of them are no longer bitter, but I doubt the rift between us is completely repairable. They’d have a conniption about what I’d done afterward.”

“You were a child,” Fíli interrupted, his blue eyes steely and determined. “You didn’t know a thing about the world. You were lost and scared, just trying to help your family. You wouldn’t have done it if you had a choice.”

“But I did!” she snapped, feeling that control slip again. Bless the boy, but he was not making this easy for her. “I thought my life was worth more than innocent children’s! I could’ve let him kill me, died a noble death, but I didn’t! Every action I took that night was my own, and I deserve to be held accountable!”

“We’re all responsible for some kind of wrong, lass,” Dwalin said, his tone and countenance calm and open. He blew out a long breath through his nose. “War’s got a way o’ complicatin’ things. If this were anyone else, I wouldnae hesitate to give you what you’re askin’ for. But the lad was right back in that cave.” He stood from his seat and leveled a thoughtful look on her. “We know ye. You’ve never once had anythin’ more malicious in your body than that little spark o’ mischief that shows just how clever ye are. You’ve been loyal. And I wouldnae never put aside anyone who’s stood with me that long.”

She wanted to hug him, kiss him, offer to polish his axes if she thought he would let her. Anything she could do to make him see just what his words did for her. It was a bloody miracle, if ever she saw one.

“I don’t know you,” Belvor added, studying her from over the hand propped against his mouth. “But I won’t pass judgment if others who do see you harmless now. My lord?” He turned toward Thorin, and the air itself stilled in anticipation.

Thorin had chosen a spot on the opposite wall to stare at, fingers scraping through his beard. He looked tired and aged. He tilted his head back and lifted his gaze to her. “That still does not explain why you told no one.”

Her heart plummeted into her stomach. She thought if Dwalin had conceded, then maybe…

“I think it does,” Fíli replied, stepping up beside her. “You don’t like talking about the death you’ve seen, or the battles that have gone wrong. Why would you expect her to?”

He placed his palms on the table and stood slowly. “Because _I_ told _her._ ” His calm steps sounded like hammer falls on the floor. He stopped in front of her, face scrunched in distress. “I spoke with you. I opened up my heart to you. Why could you not do the same?”

Her head dropped to the floor. _This is your just reward. Take it with dignity._ “I was afraid to.”

“Of what?” He was not angry and harsh. Only disappointed. “Of my reaction, correct? You knew that if I ever found out, I would banish you from the company. You would lose the friendships you’ve gained with us, and you would lose me as a lover. Sound right?”

She nodded.

“I have the right to cast you out of this city and bar you from ever entering mine again.”

“Uncle!” Kíli exclaimed.

Thorin touched a hand to her arm, asking for her eyes. His face reflected his words. “You wounded me, Cori. Deeply.”

She had little restraint left for pride. She cared not for who watched and who listened. This was agony. “Please forgive me.”

“If that is what you wish, time is your greatest asset. My trust must be rebuilt, and it will take a while.”

She nodded. He was not renouncing her, or sentencing her to prison. This was leagues better than she expected to happen, and she could not love the man more than in that moment. “Thank you.”

“Uncle, I think you should—”

“I would not have you tell me what to do in this moment, _nidoy_.” Thorin turned sharper eyes on the older prince. “It is not the same for you.” He walked toward the door, tapping a stone into the tabletop to alert the guards outside that he was leaving. “We remain here until the soldiers are well enough to return to Durmark. I will give word of our next move when the time comes.”

Fíli took a step forward to go after him, but Cori snagged his sleeve before he could get too far. “Lad, please, don’t make things worse. They’re as good as they’re going to get right now.”

He shook his head, forceful breaths rushing from his nose. “And he claims to love you. I don’t see how you could justify such contradictions.”

“He’s well within his rights,” she replied. “He hit the nail on the head.” If the worst that happened was him calling her out in front of a small group, she could accept the current standings.

            **************************

When all other attempts to pull herself from the rut her life had become showed themselves insufficient, one constant remained with Cori no matter where she went. Shadow. He had no voice to console, but a shoulder to lean on. He held no judgment for her shameful deeds, but lent an ear for her to speak them. He was loyal, warm, and even when the day came that he would have to depart from his world, she would always hold him in a special part of her heart.

The next morning, Cori stood at the end of the aisle of Ereven’s stables and blew a whistle. Only a second or two passed before the grey head stuck out from over the top of one of the stall doors on the left, a clump of hay still grinding between his lips. She laughed despite herself, rushing up to him and throwing the door open. He stood still as she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her fingers in the thick curly mane trailing down one side. His fur was soft and smooth to the touch, only a little bit of his winter undercoat falling away when she brushed a hand over it. His brown eyes were light and alert, and when she finally backed away, he pushed his nose into her belt, looking for the treats she always kept there. “You always know, don’t you?” she asked through her tears, pulling the chunks of carrots she had requested from the kitchen and laying them out for him to munch on. “You’re like this mountain, aren’t you?” She patted his cheek as he chewed. “Always there, strong, rich with life. Where does a wretch like me go about deserving something as beautiful as you?”

“Quite an extraordinary animal there.” She whipped around, swiping her sleeve over her wet cheeks. At the door of the stall stood the woman she had given Shadow to after leaving Stonewall. She had a pleasant smile on her face and a bucket in one hand rattling with oats. “We’re all a little unworthy to have such magnificent beasts willing to give themselves in our service.”

“Hear, hear,” Cori giggled, taking the bucket when it was offered. Shadow barely finished the last chunk of carrot before burying his nose in the oats and digging them out in haste.

“He carried my husband faithfully all the way through the mountains to here, never once pulling up a fuss.” The dam stepped into the stall, patting the pony on the side of his neck opposite to Cori. “I felt it was my duty to repay him by taking care of him until your return. I knew you would be back for him at some point.”

“How is your husband?” Cori asked, absently weaving a braid into Shadow’s mane.

She beamed brightly. “Very well. Almost fully recovered. A minor head injury and some broken ribs along with that leg. Nothing that will last. Although, you wouldn’t know that if you’d heard him griping the whole ride here.”

Cori laughed, the sound startling at how light it was.

The woman’s cheeriness fell somewhat. “I heard you’ve earned yourself a reputation amongst our kin.”

The hobbit gritted her teeth. “I assume mostly bad.”

The dwarf’s tight smile answered for her. “Whatever it is you have done, I have seen evidence to the contrary. A ‘traitor’ and a ‘vixen’ would not give up her most precious possession to someone in need.”

Her deeds had not made it to the woman’s ears, or else she would not be saying these things, but Cori was selfish enough to wallow in the praise as if it were true. “Thank you.”

The woman nodded, giving Shadow one more pet on the nose before moving out of the stall. Her pause there was brief, and she turned her head only halfway. “May the hair on your feet grow ever long, Miss Houndberry,” she bid in farewell before striding down the aisle and disappearing into the mountain.

She had not the right to such tidings; maybe the woman was a little confused as to what they meant. Grabbing a brush from a stool just outside the stall door, she let her thoughts melt into nothing as she stroked the last bit of molting fur from the pony’s body.

A new voice called from the walkway, quiet and hesitant, and Cori looked out toward it. “Kíli.”

He came in to take the woman’s place. “Someone missed you.”

“I’ve never left him this long ever since I first got him. I didn’t think he’d recognize me.”

“You aren’t easy to forget, Cori.”

She beamed at him, seeking the comfort from his dark, caring eyes.

“I hate to rain on your reunion, but Thorin requested you.”

Indeed, the anticipation and dread chased away the moment of sun. He sent for her, rather than come find her himself. “Suppose I can’t hide out here all day.” She pressed a kiss to Shadow’s velvety muzzle and left the stall, latching the door behind her. “Or can I?”

He shrugged. “I’d offer to tell him you’re napping, but he knows where you are.”

“That’s all right. We need to speak.”

As they approached the room set aside to be Thorin’s personal study, Kíli turned to her with pursed lips. “Look, I know I’ve been like a pendulum lately, but I just wanted you to know that I never believed you had…” He gestured ambiguously, and she giggled.

“Thank you, Kíli. I know.”

He smiled at her, giving her chin a quick pinch before marching back the way they had come.

When she entered the room, she passed through a barrier made from the lingering scent of pipeweed and ale. A good bit of it, too. A slight haze remained in the air, shrouding the bookshelves along the wall. The dwarf himself sat in a tall-backed chair at the desk, the picture of regality that superseded her own disheveled appearance. Her eyes carried the redness of casting her sorrows into her pillow that morning, and she had done nothing with her hair but wrap it into a knot behind her neck. No one commented, but anyone who would have known the difference would also have no need to say anything. When he looked up at her, he held a neutral disposition as he leaned back in the chair and set his quill aside. “Miss Houndberry, thank you for coming.”

She nodded, uttering no noise other than a muffled acknowledgement in the back of her throat. She clasped her hands in front of her wait, trying not to stare at him.

“I was told you were in the stables. Have you seen Shadow?”

She bobbed her head again, licking her dry lips. “Yes, I have.”

“He is well?”

She gave a wordless affirmation. The blatantly polite conversation grated at her last nerve. Where was the blunt dwarf she met all those months ago that accused her of spying right off the bat?

If he noticed her rising impatience, he gave no indication. The bright blues of his eyes examined her with heavy calculation, waiting for something he expected might not come. With a labored sigh, he let his hand drop from brushing over his lips to the top of his desk. In a slow, unhurried movement, he pushed his chair back and rose to stand at his full height. Instantly, the room shrank under the mercy of his mere presence, and Cori itched to do the same. He reached for a piece of parchment resting on the corner of the desk to his far right, pulling it toward his body and holding it between both hands. His fingers fidgeted with it a moment, eyes boring into it for a long pause before he released another breath and returned his impassive gaze to her. “I have something I wish for you to sign.”

Apparently, there was more she had to offer him, as if she had not already given her body and soul to him. But she nodded, holding her hand out to receive the paper.

 One look at the first line, and she realized he had just handed her the physical manifestation, then the verbal validation, of her greatest heartbreak. “I wish to relieve you of your oath to this company.”

Only the strongest demonstration of her willpower kept her from choking on the constriction in her throat. Her free fist tightened at her side, nails digging into the skin. She stared at the words on the page confirming what he said, but they did not register. Her eyes found his signature at the bottom sitting beside the spot where hers would go, the swirls and swoops carefully defined amidst the blocky lettering of the body. Hers would not be so; her hands began to shake. Reining in a smidgen of control, she lifted her head. He watched her expectantly, but not anxiously, professionally composed. She had no idea what he was thinking, but her thoughts were entirely on display. “What are the terms?”

He did not point her toward the words on the page, obliging her the simple request. “There are no restrictions about confidentiality; there really is no use for it now. You are no longer under any compulsion to remain among us. Your pursuits may deviate from ours as much as you please. In fact, I would advise that they do. As our tasks no longer pertain to you, we ask that you refrain from associating with us and our missions from the moment of your acceptance of these terms onward.”

Whoever the “we” he referred to was, she did not know them. It did not matter. His aim was clear now. She was too much of a hassle to keep around, a risk to the cause. She had much to say about his toying with her (he had given her false hope the night before), but none of it would change a thing. As he was her contractual superior, she was powerless to stand against it. Locking her jaw, she took the quill in hand, set the paper on the table, and scratched her name on the line.

_There._

_You might be free of me, but I’ll never be free of you._

Blowing on the ink, she handed the parchment back. Tears prickled anew behind her eyes, but she held them back with all her might. She wanted to preserve her dignity, and by Yavanna, she would not let him see her cry.

He took the paper with a nod, the slightest flicker of discomfort appearing and disappearing from his face in a quick flash. “Thank you.” He set the contrast aside, clasping his hands together in front of his belt as he gave her a once-over. His head tilted back. “Safe travels, Miss Houndberry.”

The dismissal was clear. Not just from this room, but from this city. From his life. He let her down slowly, respectfully, but some part of her deep within wished he would not. She wished to be thrown into the dirt and spat on, cursed and condemned with venomous words. At least then, her desire to fall on her knees and beg for forgiveness would be curbed if only a little more than it was now. She would do what he did not voice. She would slip away quietly, speaking to no one and letting the wilderness of the Blue Mountains swallow her up, leaving behind nothing but a memory. In true hobbit fashion.

Swallowing thickly, she tucked her hand into her pocket and pulled out what sat in there for ages after she had no choice but to wash her hair. As she held out her hand, the little bead sat cozily in her palm. The king glanced down at it, the muscle in his jaw jumping. Then, slowly, he reached out and pinched it between his fingers. Cori quickly retrieved her hand before their skin could touch any further, trying to push steel into her face and her voice. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Taking her fill of the handsome, noble face that would haunt her dreams until she returned to the soil, she whirled about on her heel and left the room, quietly thumping the door shut behind her.

She saw nothing. She felt nothing. Her numb legs carried her to chambers, then the stables, barely allowing her to sit atop her pony.

_Are you enjoying this?_ she thought bitterly, as if her words would reach him. _Do you like seeing the power of your words unfolding in front of you, how all else is put aside to bend to your will? I haven’t lied, Thorin Oakenshield. I am at your service._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> nidoy: boy
> 
> So, uh, this hurt.   
> I was having to write and rewrite the chapter after this, which is the reason for the pause, but I'm all good now. So there you have it. Cori's left the dwarves once more, and indefinitely this time. How did everything get so messed up? :(  
> Love all your feedback. Thank you much! <3


	30. After the Storm

Rain drizzled on the green hillsides and flourishing forests with the tiniest whisper. A cool breeze came with it, though not too cold. On it blew the smell of wet bark and dirt that bathed the land in its customary state: clean, fresh, and natural. Compared to the starkness of rock, it was soothingly refreshing.

Cori puffed away at the drip that had fallen from her hood, wiggling her nose at the same time to coax it off. _Bloody springtime, all right._

She waited by the Brandywine, watching the calm flow of the river carry the ferry from the other side. Beneath her, Shadow stomped on the old wood of the dock, shaking his heavy soaking mane. He knew what was to come next, and he did not like it any more than she did. However gentle the current was, Cori glared at it with all the fire behind her eyes that she could conjure. A weak result, obviously, since no other solution presented itself, and she would once again have to cross over a deep, churning body of water on a _plank._ But why not? After all, the Valar loved reminding her how much they hated her.

The Green Lady had been kind. The Shire thrived. She was always watching over her hobbits.

The rain did not let up as she pulled her pony onto the ferry and stood by his head, repeating to herself over and over that this was much faster to Buckleberry than continuing north to the bridge. But while the weeping of the heavens persisted, the western sky opened up with a crack in the clouds, allowing the last bit of the sunset to poke through and cast long shadows. Cori studied how the light played on the tops of the trees on the other side of the river, leaning her head on the little grey’s neck. It was a warm counter to the drops falling on her, and she closed her eyes to soak it in.

And suddenly, they were on the other side, the pole bearer tapping her on the shoulder as he looped the line over the post on the dock. Cori blinked, shaking the fuzziness from her vision. She thanked him as she dropped a coin into his hand, tugging herself back into the saddle and trotting the rest of the way down the path. Only a short distance later, the trees opened up, laying out Buckleberry before her. Just the same, the sun shined on the smial doors and houses facing that way, blaring through the haze of water falling over the already lush land. She took a deep breath and marched toward the road.

A few of the younger folk had taken advantage of the afternoon rainshower, dashing around beneath the trickle left as more sunlight arose. They gave the pony and hooded rider little heed, sparing them a fleeting glance before continuing with their games. Cori grinned. Oh, had she ever been just like that: no care in the world for a passing stranger. She would not have known nor pondered long whether that stranger was just like her now, a leak that managed to escape through a dam keeping out the rest of the world and its troubles. But hardly unscathed. Still, the perseverance of innocents in the face of it all seemed to brighten the gloom just a little.

Then she saw a young couple, partly through their tweens most likely, kissing through the drizzle beneath a small tree. She looked away with a frown.

When she passed the gate leading to the Buckleberry legislative offices, she spared a glimpse at the notices posted on it, somewhat damp from the rain. Nothing of consequence aside from a few special announcements concerning this gathering or that market day. Nothing she had hoped to see; a breath of frustration passed through her nose. Was it really too much to ask for the hobbits to open their eyes to what was practically happening on their doorstep? Oh, but they could not see it for the door and with the shades drawn. Right.

She continued on her way after noticing the date on the copy of the daily post, smiling at seeing “Magnolia and Therry Burrbark” in the subtext.

The fourteenth of May.

Seven days she was out of the Blue Mountains. Had she really made it to Buckland in that amount of time? She reached forward and patted Shadow on the neck. “Sorry, boy.”

The pony let out a breath, as if confirming that she had indeed driven him like a tyrant. An extra helping of oats that night, then.

Seven years it had been also since seeing Buckleberry bathed in springtime, and what criminal depravity it was to subject herself to. As the forest gave way to the riverbank on her left, she saw that the sun dipped below the horizon already. Even then, the fireflies in the meadows leading down to the water danced in the approaching twilight. In the houses along the way, candles burned brightly in windows. Supper wafted out with the chimney smoke. Gardens bloomed fully, dazzling even in the low light. With the help of a little Old Toby, she could pretend it was twenty years earlier and kick up her aching feet after a long, productive day in the fields.

Taking the third turn on the left off the main road from the ferry, she headed down the well-worn path of Berry Bunch Bend just as the rain stopped completely. It sloped downward into a small valley that was bisected by the Hedge a few miles east, a dip in the land that she knew as well as the creases in her own hand. Dusk had already claimed it and the smials she passed along the way. Finally, she came to the end where a familiar dwelling stood apart from the rest, surrounded on three sides by tilled earth fertile with that year’s crop.

The first place she looked was out of habit. Where else would he be on a spring evening with enough light left to see a mile or so down the road? He had moved the carrots and cabbages, it seemed; for the longest time, they were in the southernmost field just behind the house. But his off-white cotton shirt glowed brightly in the darkening northwest field, knelt over a quarter-grown head. He looked disgruntled; no matter how hard they tried, the mites always got into their cabbage crop, but they came out all right in the end.

After standing and scratching his head beneath his hat, he finally heard the rhythmic plodding of Shadow’s hooves and looked up. Cori stopped right next to the field, feeling her cheeks strain with the flicker of a grin. She watched him until he stood at the edge of the dirt, staring up at her as if watching a show of falling stars just passed her shoulder. Then he shook his head, shoulders shaking with the force of the chuckle deep in his chest. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Cori laughed aloud for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime. Her voice was scratchy with disuse. She slid to the ground and stumbled into him when her head spun, throwing her arms around his neck. She tried with all her might to keep the tears from spilling onto his shirt. “Papa. You remembered.”

“By the hair on my feet, girl, you think I’d forget? Ah, what a beautiful day it was when you came to us. Bright and warm, not quite like the last hour or two has been. But it’s much better now, I’ll say.”

“It’s a bloody miracle _I_ remembered.” She pulled away and flicked a finger at the corner of her nose where a droplet had paused. He looked exactly the same as he did four months ago, only a little rosy cheeked from a day in the sun.

“Good gracious, you look dreadful,” he said, brow pinched in concern. Dennon liked to tease his girls with such comments in the past for his own amusement, but this seemed like a genuine observance. She hardly doubted what he saw was, indeed, rather frightening. “Has something happened?”

 _My entire list of things I hoped would never happen._ “I’m just…tired. A little hungry.” Did she even eat the day before?

“Well, then, let’s get inside. Garth managed to snatch a couple ducks by the river while he was working on his house today, and your mother worked her excellence on them, as usual. That boy’s still working on designs; he and Basil are tossing ideas back and forth, even from this distance. She should be coming in in a fortnight. Anyway, I’m sure he can take care of Shadow while we get something in your stomach.”

Cori hardly understood what he was saying, only listened intently to the soothing drone of his voice. She could revel in it for hours without tire. As they shuffled back toward the house, her body began to tingle funnily. Her ears rang loudly, muffling the voice next to her that continued to ramble on. The round door, lit by an oil lantern hung next to the door frame, had been so clear only a moment earlier, but as they drew closer, it was all she could do to focus on it. The door was safety. Everything was all right now, if only just a little bit better. _Safe. Now rest._

The world swayed, and the muted voice made a murmur of quiet alarm. But all was calm. She was at ease.

           *************************

During the week of traveling she spent by herself, Cori used very little of it to sleep. It was dangerous for one wandering alone to let their guard down during peaceful times, but a land targeted by war called on her basest instincts. And her punishment for closing her eyes included a metaphorical slap to the face that prompted her to perform a literal one so _that_ would stay as far away as she could possibly manage. _That_ being the double flogging of the thin, snake-like face that hovered over hers as she bared her sins before her friends, and seeing those mesmerizing blue eyes gazing at her with the promise of amnesty (being particularly cruel with its unlikelihood). She had ample incentive to stay awake.

There were no dreams now. Just one moment of watching the world fade away, and then another hearing her name called once more, though not in the same tone.

 _Wake up,_ said the voice: deep, coarse, and tender. _You’re done avoiding the sun,_ _darling._

“I’m not avoiding anything,” she murmured into her pillow, fully aware that she lay in her old bedroom entirely by herself in a bed that was both too small and too cold. She did not remember when she began to answer him, but it had been going on a while. Why not embrace the insanity, she reasoned with that little nagging itch in the back of her mind that told her how pathetic she sounded. What was the point of denying that she had banked on the stability of a steadfast dwarf to keep her rational as her world turned upside, and now that she was deprived of him, she was having a very difficult time keeping it together?

Nothing pathetic about that, right?

Now, driving herself into the ground (literally) had been a little irresponsible, given that she was still able-bodied to take care of herself. Or had she also begun to rely on his little habit of offering her pieces of his meals to remind her to eat enough?

Fíli would have a fit if he learned she had fainted from exhaustion in her parent’s front yard. Kíli would laugh until he was in tears and pain. She had thought a lot about those boys over the past week.

In truth, she wanted nothing more than to pull the quilt over her head and return to slumber. She might be able to get away with it, too. But, if she recalled anything from her last moment of consciousness, she probably left her dear old Pa scrambling to juggle Shadow’s reins and catch her at the same time. Not to mention interrupting the entire household in their nightly routine to see to her. She abhorred being a burden.

And something vaguely smelt like breakfast outside the open bedroom door. Supper never happened either, and her stomach clenched desperately.

After changing from the travel clothes her family thankfully had not seen fit to divulge her of, slipping into an old skirt with a flowy white shirt tucked in that she dug out of her home stash, she let her nose lead her out into the hallway and around the corner to the kitchen. The house was quiet, something that had only begun to happen within the last few years as each bird left the nest. It was a little-known fact that peace in the Shire could only be found outside and only if one knew where to look. Barbarella stood by the table with her back to the hallway. In the fireplace by the dish tub, a small plate sat above smoldering coals with some meats that looked like sausages on it. Her father’s jacket was missing from the hook beside the front door, and Garthor’s room was empty. They were the only two in the house.

The small hobbit woman paused in what looked to be her chore of straightening up the table after first breakfast and looked up with wide eyes at the new arrival. Before saying a word, she pursed her lips and rushed forward to wrap her arms around her youngest daughter. Cori stiffened, but nonetheless, she let the sweet fragrance that had dogged her mother since she was almost too small to remember wrap around her like a cloak.

Barbarella pulled away, settling her usual stern concern on the girl. “Cori, _what_ happened?” As if recalling something, she led the younger hobbit to the table and busied herself with preparing a plate with some of the sausages, a helping of cheese-mixed hash, eggs, and a piece of toast with what smelled like strawberry jam slathered over it. Cori would have to beg pardon if she did not immediately answer her mother’s firm question as she proceeded to shovel as much food into her mouth that would be permitted without her choking or making herself sick. She almost moaned aloud, especially when the fresh jam first hit her tongue. Strawberries had been her favorite to harvest as a faunt.

After a few moments, she came to a point where she knew her stomach had settled with a reasonable amount of sustenance, and so with the food went the time in which she could avoid her mother’s probing grey gaze in favor of her plate. She set her fork down with a sigh and let her hands drop into her lap to fiddle with the strings of her skirt. As soon as she opened her mouth to speak, however, Barbarella lifted a single finger that halted every word she could possibly utter. “You are about to tell me, Coronilla, that there is nothing wrong with you, and that it was perfectly normal that you fainted on our doorstep looking white as cotton. Now I’ll ask you only one more time, and I better receive a proper answer rather than that half-arsed attempt to fool me that you were just about to make, or so help me, child, I will try my hardest never to allow you to step through that door again.”

Cori blinked, thoroughly lost in her shock and her memory. Had Barbarella Houndberry _ever_ cursed? And while she knew, after fifteen years of hearing the same threat over and over, that her “hardest” would never be good enough, if Barbarella Houndberry ever spoke in any manner unbefitting a gentle hobbit lady, one better be keen to listen. She was a silent thundercloud. “I’ve…just…I’ve been riding hard. The last few days, that is.”

Barbarella waited, visibly patient, though that hardly gave any indication of what was on the inside.

“I haven’t really stopped to rest much. Shadow’s a hardy thing, so as long as he keeps going, I usually let him.”

“And by doing so, you weren’t able to eat either, prompting the attack on your plate just now.”

Cori bobbed her head once. “Yes.”

The silence hung thick as Barbarella stared into the glowing coals of the fireplace with a calm contemplative expression. No signs of distress. At least it was not so immense that it was bursting out of her in flailing arms and shrill screams. Now came the fun part: diffusing the situation so that did not happen.

“And where did you come from?”

That was an “I’m prepared to counter your lie because I know it’ll be your first impulse” look if she ever saw one. And certainly not one that would have allowed a “diffusing the situation” response. Cori swallowed thickly. “The Blue Mountains.”

Barbarella nodded, still quite calm. Apparently, it was the answer she had anticipated. “You’re still with the dwarves.”

“Yes.”

“Were you with them in the Northfarthing? We know that an army of dwarves marched through the Shire several weeks ago, and that was where they were headed. To address their situation, no doubt.”

Cori nodded mutely.

“So that’s it,” Barbarella said in a tone of finality, standing from her chair. “You worked yourself into exhaustion and hunger because you were running from _their_ troubles.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” she replied, feeling a commencing argument.

“Cori, when I tell you the dangers of involving yourself in other people’s problems, it’s not to spite you. You are a grown woman, however young you may still be, and even if you were living in Buckland, I would have no authority to tell you what to do because you are of age. But while I have never gone passed Tuckborough or further east than the Old Forest, I have lived much longer than you have: I was almost into my fifties when I had you.”

“You haven’t seen the world,” Cori bit back, bracing herself against the table in case she had to stand. “You haven’t seen what’s really out there, or what it does to others. You don’t _care_ what it does to others, as you’ve said before. You will never know what it’s like to struggle on the brink of survival and have every possible element rain down devastation on you.”

“I was there, during the Fell Winter, taking care of my family when the world seemed to be bent on choking us!” Barbarella cried out, her eyes sparkling. “When the wolves came down, and the snow wouldn’t stop, and there just wasn’t enough food! Do you remember, lying out in bed with a fever, across the room from Maggy battling the same thing? I knew I was going to watch my children be taken from me, like my brother Finneus. You don’t know, Cori! You haven’t a clue what it’s like to be willing to do anything—like face a pack of hungry wolves circling the town to reach the doctors for medicine— _anything,_ just to keep your babies alive!”

Cori watched the tears streak down the woman’s face, yet found no weakness in them. How could there be? The eyes they came from gleamed like hard steel: unbreakable and sharp. They raged with the unyielding power of fear, though not for herself, and because of that, the power could be wielded as a tool. It had been many years ago, during a time that Cori was too young to recall. “I…didn’t know.”

Barbarella scoffed. “I didn’t expect you to. It doesn’t matter whether you did or not, not to me, because I would’ve done it no matter what. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. Maybe one day, if you quiet your restless feet long enough to let a child enter your life, you’ll understand.”

The girl cast her eyes to her feet, feeling once more as if they belonged there. Their life here had been anything but perfect peace, and yet, while the hobbits pretended nothing bad could ever happen, it was only a rouse. They knew how to face adversity. They would rather be swept away in the sweet fruits of life than dwell on the one rotten apple. And where was the fault in that? Honor did not come when one ran toward battle head-on. While having the courage to face the enemy was honorable, so was the cleverness in their will to survive.

Dwarves had the strength, the audacity, and the ingenuity to defend themselves against their foes with weapons. With their light feet and peaceable tendencies, hobbits were quite literally built to avoid conflict. She could not demerit either for living only as they were meant to.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, teeth gnawing into her lip.

“And neither is that necessary,” Barbarella declared, swiping at her eyes with her thumb and straightening her back. “But now you know. Let that carry through the rest of your life so you don’t forget just how much those who matter care about you.” Taking the empty plate, she padded across the kitchen to the wash tub and placed it in the water with the others. “I’m going out to help your father with the turnips in a little while. You stay in here and rest, won’t you? And if you’re feeling up to it, whip us up something good for lunch that won’t bog you down. You certainly picked up your grandmother’s hand at cooking.”

Cori watched her hands work in the water. She had come back to Buckland for clarity, for a time to gather her thoughts in a safe, constant place. She needed the old rhythm of her old life to set her straight so, maybe, she could pick up where she left off before the whirlwind came through and scrambled her. Things had never felt more uncertain here.

But, what always remained reliable was the bolstering her mood could receive when a particular swarm of busy bees came around. As usual, word had spread of her arrival, probably by her kid brother who had yet to break himself away from the engrossment of building his and his future bride’s new home long enough to check on her. Around afternoon tea came Margow and Featon with their tiny troop.

“You’re back again, Auntie Cori!” little Marigold cheered as she clung to Cori’s skirts with bright blue eyes shining in the sunlight. Her hair glowed the same color as the flower she was named for.

“Yes, I am, little bug,” Cori groaned as she hoisted the girl up for a hug around the neck. “Oh, my back! Gracious, I think you’ve grown an inch since last I was here.”

“Me, too!” Teagon interrupted, standing before her proudly with his hands clasped behind his back. “Papa says I’ll be big enough to steer the ponies on the wagon soon.”

“That’s a big job, Teagon,” Cori replied, ruffling the mop on his head that matched his father and his sister. “You sure you’re up to it?”

He wiggled his little head confidently. He may not carry the Houndberry name, but there was no mistaking that set in his brow.

Cori gave the third child, Belle, a quick hug before she and Marigold dashed off to accompany their grandfather to the blackberry bushes. When she approached her sister and brother-in-law, she got a mix of pleasant surprise and suspicion (mostly from Margow). “Missed me?” Cori teased, leaning over to give Featon a kiss on the cheek before wiggling her fingers at one-year-old Donton lying drowsily in his mother’s arms.

“Didn’t know you’d left until a few days after,” Margow replied in a scolding manner. She pulled her into an embrace anyway. “And the return was probably just as unexpected.”

Cori nodded.

“Well, while you’re here, you think you can make yourself useful by watching the children while Ma and I work on this quilt we’re doing for Mrs. Podger?”

“Don’t want me touching it even though I can probably cross a stitch better than you can?”

Margow rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to know where your hands have been.”

_That was rude._

Cori got straight to work with her assignment. Teagon was excited to show her how far he had come with his archery since the weather had warmed. And he had indeed come a long way since February. With Donton propped on her hip, she watched the older boy pop pine cones off the pasture fence as if the blunt wooden arrows were drawn to them. Eventually, Marigold had to jump in to show off her own skills. She had a few more stray shots that Belle volunteered to chase after, but she had the eye for it. A tossing miracle Margow had actually let the girl practice, but Cori’s oldest sister had very little will against her children. If they asked to try something that was possible, they were allowed a taste of it. The faunts were well on their way to being able to take care of themselves in the future, and Cori could watch them take turns with that satisfaction.

She forgot, if for a little while, the reason she had come here in the first place, and it was the longest moment of peace she had had in weeks.

As the sun began to lower, Garthor finally arrived back home, and after giving Cori a kiss and wrestling with the children for a minute, he disappeared into the house with an exhausted slump in his shoulders and a declaration that she better had saved him one or two of her smoked ham sandwiches. By that time, all the little ones had slowed down in their play and rested in the flower garden with their father. Donton, however, had fallen into a deep sleep, and Cori opted to let him stay where he curled in her lap. With her face turned to the fading warm sun, she barely noticed when Margow sat down on the hill next to her, rubbing a hand along Donton’s back. For a while, she just watched her husband and the children below in the garden, but Cori could feel the anticipation, like the calm before a storm.

“You won’t tell Ma what’s happened to you, will you?”

Cori shook her head. “No, I won’t.”

“That’s not surprising. And I don’t think it’ll do much good to advise you to try. You two aren’t close, and you keep to yourself as it is. You weren’t afraid to tell her what was happening the last time you were here, which means that whatever’s going on is personal. What I want to know is: will you tell your sister?”

As far apart as they were in age, Cori and Margow had grown up very close. Margow had just become old enough to help their mother with child care when Cori came along, so she was heavily involved with the everyday maintenance of her two youngest siblings. With a keen interest in mothering, she spent a lot of her tween years playing games with Cori when she had no chores to do. And Cori’s disappearance after Garth healed hit her incredibly hard. No, they were not as close as they used to be, but Cori _needed_ an ear, and there was no better one she could think of than her sister.

Cuddling Donton close to her chest, she took in a refreshing breath of the flowers and grass, soothing the melancholy that seeped in. She had not thought thoroughly on this in a week. It had stunned her. “I messed up, Margy. Buggered it right up.”

Margow sat still, the soft brown eyes of their father regarding her tenderly. Cori always thought she had the prettiest eyes of them all. “What’d you do?”

She suddenly laughed, humorless and a little mad. “Damn it. I fell in love with a dwarf.”

The woman blinked, lips parting just a little. “You did what now?”

“I didn’t mean to! It just sort of…happened. And it was amazing and wonderful and mind-boggling. Then I botched it all up, trying to do what I thought was best for everyone, and now it’s…it’s over.” She huffed. Once it started, it just kept rolling, and it probably would continue because she could feel her control slipping just a little.

“In February…?”

“I think it started by then, but I didn’t have the gall to tell him. You know, this whole time, communication has been my biggest problem. I can’t _speak._ If I could, everything would’ve turned out differently. But we danced around each other for months, and in the meanwhile, I forgot to tell him something _very_ important, and now he…he hates me.” She had not, up until that point, let herself think that. She focused instead on the other three words he uttered even after everything went down. But there could not be betrayal before there was love. She betrayed him, and he hated her for it.

“I don’t think it’s so straightforward,” Margow said gently, placing a hand on her arm. “Featon and I hurt each other. It’s part of being in a relationship. But our love keeps us from letting whatever comes between us permanently damage what we have. We work it out because we want to. If he is so special to you, there is a chance to make things right.” She paused, sighing as she stared at the ground. “Cori, are you sure…a dwarf?”

The girl sniffed, noticing the wetness on her cheeks and wiping it away with her shoulders. “I’ve never in my life felt like this before. _Never._ I know what it looks like to you: it’s some kind of fascination for the world and not him, but…” Her breath hitched, and she dropped her face into Donton’s hair. “Oh, Giver, I’ve lost him.”

A steady arm slipped around her shoulders and pulled her against a soft mass that smelt of bread and perfume. The sobs remained at bay; she had not the strength to do any more after the first two days on her own, and then it had become easier to manage. But that Valar-forsaken pain remained the same. She felt ripped into countless pieces, like flimsy parchment.

_All your bloody fault, you stupid dwarf. And all mine, too._

“I didn’t imagine you would be the one to quit so quickly.” How could an insult sound so sweet?

“This isn’t like baking a cake for the first time,” she murmured sourly, checking to make sure she had not awoken the boy in her lap. “There’s nothing to quit.”

“You? Cori Houndberry? Admitting defeat? The girl who took off into the wilderness without looking back and made a business for herself. The girl who wouldn’t give up until she’d found a cure for her brother’s illness. Bested? I don’t think so.”

Cori snorted, shaking her head. “What’re you playing at?”

“It’s not too late, Cori. It never will be. If he responded to your feelings, you’re something special to him for sure. You’re not getting away from _him_ that easily, just like he’s not getting away from you. Wait it out. See what happens. But don’t let it all go just yet.”

She craned her neck to see the smiling woman with her chin on her shoulder, wondering who this was and where her sister had gone. “So you approve, huh?”

Margow laughed. “I hardly believe you really care what I think about your _dwarf._ But I’ve never seen you quite like this, so I’m not going to dismiss what’s so obviously affecting you. From my own personal experience, I’d say you’re in love, and that’s all there really is to it. So to answer your question, yes.”

Cori grinned, leaning her head into the crook of her sister’s neck. “I’m counting on your support if I tell Ma.”

They giggled together, Margow replying, “I’ll be there.”

The truth was, however, that Cori found no need to tell her mother anything. While she appreciated her sister’s encouragement, she knew in her heart that she was not _quitting._ There was only one option at this point, and going back hardly factored in. Would that be the last she saw of him? Certainly not. She would visit the brothers, and Dwalin, and Dís, if the dam had not seen fit to take her brother’s side (she likely would, but she seemed like a reasonable woman who was wrapped around her boys’ fingers). But would she let herself hope that _maybe,_ there was a chance…? One rejection was enough. She had enough.

 For now, she would remain in the Shire.

She could just pretend that everything was normal. She had only to convince herself that none of the last several months had actually happened, and that she just came home from the East as she had intended to and let herself take the summer off at home. But that really did sound like admitting defeat. Even if no one knew, she was embarrassed at the idea of something so childish. So she chose to follow the adult path: forget. Bury everything that had happened with the rest of her past and try to move on.

Her life was shaped like a circle, it seemed.

However, as she sank into a hot bath that evening, allowing the rest of her illness to dissipate into soothing, pleasant scents and steam, her mind just wanted to wander.

After scrubbing out the grime and sweat of the road ingrained into her skin, she opted to sit and soak for a while. She heard nothing from the rest of the household, just the gentle sloshing of the water when she moved a little. As she leaned her head back on the edge of the tub and dozed, she hardly saw any harm in indulging just a little bit. So she took off to places so well known, she had called them home once. She imagined soft wisps of silver mingled with black. That heavy, dark length curtained around her as he leaned over her. Eyes like the clear blue horizon crinkled with a devilish grin. A rare laugh, most likely brought on by the tricks of the boys he revered as his own sons. Occasionally, though, it was just for her in the quiet of their solitude as they talked about everything and nothing at all.

Outside the open window, she could hear raindrops falling, cooling the humid evening. But she remained warm and flushed. Her memory had delved to other places.

Tender caresses ghosted over her skin, tickling her with the rough scrape of callouses. A shiver shot swiftly down her spine, and her toes curled. A gentle nip to her neck, then to her ear, paying particular attention to the pointed shell. Kisses sweeter than honey, given and shared. Then sharper, passionate, desperate. Touches hotter than a forge. He _was_ a forge. A faint groan, low and husky against her shoulder. The pleasure, so intense. How he had satisfied her like no other. No one ever could again. She would have no one else for as long as she lived.

 _Take what you wish,_ khajimele. _I am yours._

She yelped, nearly splashing water from the tub as she sat up. Her chest heaved for air, and bumps pebbled along her skin in the now cool water. He was here. She heard that voice as clear as the rain outside. But as she looked around the room, lit by a single candle sitting on the table next to the tub, she remained only with her shadow.

Her body tingled and throbbed in a satisfying way, as if she had just found release. Then she looked down and gasped. Her hand sat in the water, below her belly, poised over the sensitive center of her body. She wanted to laugh, but only managed to choke herself into a coughing fit. Had she really just been…while thinking of _him_?

She jerked again when a knock sounded from the door. “Cori.” Garth. “You all right in there?”

“Yeah,” she croaked, clearing her throat. “Just…fell asleep.”

“Oh, Yavanna, if you survived the wilderness all those years only to drown in a bathtub…” His voice faded back down the hallway.

Quickly, she scrambled to climb out of the tub. As she rubbed the towel over her body, she contemplated whether or not to be angry with herself. When had she ever been in such a hopeless state? Of course, she had done such things by herself on the road. She spent all of her tween years out there, after all. But never had she desired one particular person so much that she could be so unaware of her own actions. He had gotten deep under her skin.

She groaned at the analogy.

What had that dwarf done to her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was hilarious reading all of your comments from the last chapter about Thorin. Boy got roasted hard! XD It makes me incredibly happy to see everybody on Cori's side. That means I've actually made a character worth rooting for. But I hope I haven't glanced over the fact that Thorin's also feeling a little betrayed, too, and rightfully so. He might have a wild way of coping, but he's not doing this for no reason, and Cori's not entirely undeserving of the punishment. Don't be too harsh with him. They're both a little shaken at the moment.  
> I promise the rest of the story isn't going to be Cori sulking and pining after our favorite dwarf. Well, that's not all she'll do. Big things are coming. ;D


	31. All Shall Fade

Cori forgot what “quiet” was like.

She stood in the northwest field amongst the rows of cabbages with a water skin between her dirty fingers, surveying the damage she had done so far. Weeds had sprung up like mad throughout the two weeks she had been there, and it was all she, her parents, and her brother could do to keep up. But, with each of them covering a field, they had finally dented the invasion. Next for Cori would be the flower garden; it was looking a little rough.

Each day, she had been left more and more unsettled than the last. Somehow, the perpetual silence surrounding her childhood home that had always seemed so calming—mitigating even when the onslaught of life’s worst just kept coming—had become a tick for her nerves. Sticking her hands in the dirt each day, she revived her propensity for keeping green growing things alive long enough to be of some value, and the familiarity of even the tedious chore of weeding seemed to bring relief to her overactive mind when it went to forbidden places. Despite enjoying herself beyond words, for all she tried, she just could not relax.

“Cori!”

She almost fell back onto a wimpy head of cabbage, and her hand jerked to her hip where the knife she tucked into her belt every morning sat. When her heart began to beat again, she finally looked up and into the wide eyes of her little brother standing by the edge of the field, his rake clutched in his hand. His head tilted curiously at her.

“Where are you? I called you twice.”

She sighed, releasing her grip on the hilt of the blade and dropping a knee back to the ground. “Ugh, I haven’t a clue.” She picked up her spade where it had plopped into the dirt and sifted a clump back up against the base of the plant. “What’d you need?”

“Ma’s going in for the day. She said not to worry about tea.”

Cori frowned. She had looked forward to trying out a new recipe she dug out of her deceased aunt’s things in one of the spare rooms. It had only been a matter of time before her mother pushed her off the stove. For some reason, she had a perpetual need to cook for a group. “Gotcha.”

“Were you going to rush me or throw that at me?”

She snorted. “Probably both. I’ve got another one.” She patted her thigh, feeling the holster and strap beneath the linens of her skirt.

He shook his head, grinning playfully at her. “You know, you really haven’t changed a bit.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

As he ambled back to his field, swinging his rake at his side, she watched his retreating back. She wondered what could possibly be the same about her when she felt the least like her old self than she ever did. Maybe something else was different.

While she anticipated complications of living beneath the same roof as Barbarella once again, they both seemed to be succeeding at tolerating each other. As in, there were no scuffles, other than over who would be cooking that night, as they both had a fierce desire to do the work and yet a taste for each other’s food. In fact, the older woman seemed absolutely delighted with her presence, which had not happened in years. The point of change was conspicuously when Cori had to tell her she had no idea when she would be leaving. Typically, even when she had a vague answer, she would give some sort of hint that it would not be long. And she knew it would not be permanent; she had every intention of taking off to resume her trading before it was too late to pad herself before winter. But maybe she chose not to say anything because she enjoyed the civility immensely. It was a nice change, actually.

Once again, she had gotten around to all her siblings up and down the Brandywine, making sure to spend some time with Chrys’s newborn, Rorimac. That only left Ivy, Dugon’s wife, and she still had some time to go. They seemed uplifted by the indication that she would be there a while. Apparently, they found it highly likely that she would dismiss the life she had built all of a sudden and, what, take up farming like the rest of the family and add to the ten and counting grandchildren for their parents? As much as she loved it, she felt twitchy at the idea of looking at the same view every single day. There were still mountains to see, and places she had yet to visit. Her adventuring was not over just yet.

But, for the meantime, she would indulge in a hefty dose of what could have been.

As she got up from the ground, she groaned at the ache in her back. It spread around her hips to her middle in the usual squeezing pain she had grown accustomed to over the past decade or so.

Up until that morning, she had been panicking.

The tiredness plaguing her could easily be blamed on the exhausting barrage of emotions recently, but other things she could not ignore. Due to her traveling and demanding lifestyle, she knew to expect irregularity in her courses. Sometimes, she had gone a couple months with nothing at all. Never had she had any reason to truly worry about it, but when she finally sat down a few days ago to count, she realized she was way behind.

There was every possibility she was pregnant. She kept herbs for such things with her at all times, but the knowledge of their presence became completely lost in all the chaos leading up to their stay at Bag End and following it. She and Thorin certainly had not been careful, and how easily she let the idea slip from her mind made her laugh, which resulted in a moment of hysterical cackling that almost scared her.

Then she woke up that morning and found that her body had finally caught up. What she had not expected, however, was the slight disappointment in seeing it. She had to pause for a moment and have a little chat with herself about all the _dozens_ of reasons it would have been horribly inconvenient. But even then, she could not help but ponder the what ifs a little more. If there was anybody she would consider having those things with, above all others, it was him.

She haphazardly kicked some dirt beneath a cabbage with a pout. Her irrational resentment toward him had grown (once thought to be a sign of a little flicker of life in her) despite how much she told herself there was no point in it. She was just missing him. It was a painful event, letting go of the one thing she wanted the most. But she was used to losing things by now.

She had a whole section left to go before the field could be deemed clean, and her pains set her back farther than she was comfortable with. Just as she slowly dropped to her knees again and buried her fingers into the cool earth, her head shot up at the sound of multiple hooves plodding rapidly on hard-packed dirt. Nobody rode like that around here, unless there was an emergency. She listened closer. Their strides were too long to be ponies anyway.

Just as she thought, a band of four Rangers crested the hill leading from the main road into the valley, cantering swiftly down the path with purpose. Seeking the comfort of the knife at her hip, Cori curled her fingers around it and jogged out of the field to meet them. To her left, Dennon slipped out of the blackberry bushes in the eastern field and followed her. She thought she recognized two of the Rangers, but she had seen many in her time and could not say where exactly they met.

“Afternoon, miss,” the one in the front bid, tossing his green hood off his head. “Trouble in the south. Thought you ought to know.”

“What kind? Orcs?”

He nodded. “A pretty big pack near the marshes. They haven’t tried to cross the Shirebourn, but Willowbottom’s on the defensive for when they do.”

Her heart skipped. They were _that_ close? “What should we do?”

“Prepare as best you can. Be vigilant. And have somebody ready on the Horn. If we say it needs blown, then our forces have been breached and it’s up to you to defend your families. It will only be a last resort.”

She bobbed her head in acknowledgement. “Thank you, sir.”

As he pulled his hood back onto his head and turned to lead the group back up the hill, one of the others flicked his wrist in a wave at her. Beneath the shadow of the hood, she could see a small grin. She waved anyway, certain they had spoken before. Whirling around, she locked eyes with Dennon. “You get all that?”

He nodded, brow furrowed. “They were sure?”

She rolled her eyes. “I was sure when I was here last. Orcs and evil Men have been circling the Shire for months, maybe even close to a year now. It’s very real, or did you ignore Bilbo Baggins’s letter like you did me, too?”

“I tried, Cori,” Garth said. “I really did. I went to the Master and his officials, all of them. They wouldn’t hear me, and if they didn’t think anything was wrong, nobody else wanted to either.”

“I know,” she replied, patting him on the arm. He gave her a promise, and she knew he would deliver as best as he could. “This is on them. But it’s not too late. Hopefully now, with the Rangers’ warning, they might pick up their lazy feet a little. Have you done anything?”

“I dug out the old swords from the back room in the cellar. It’s been a spell since I sharpened anything, but I cut my finger on one after I was done, so I don’t think I did too shabby. A caravan of dwarves came through about three months back, and I managed to get a decent price on some knives. There’s only one bow with a few arrows; Dugon has the others. You don’t have yours anymore, do you?”

“Lost it,” she replied, feeling the sting of its absence all over again. Twenty years she had it: her first one after outgrowing her child’s bow. And now it sat in the filthy hands of a murderer, along with her sword and the quiver she made herself. “Let him keep the others. No, give one to Chrys. She could spear a pinecone every now and then. And make sure there’s at least two swords to a household, if we’ve got spares.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll take care of myself just fine. Just make sure everyone else is prepared.” She paused at the sound of her name spoken hesitantly and softly, and she turned to find the voice.

Dennon, still following behind them as they marched toward the house, stared at her through wide, rebuked eyes. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“We’ll get through this. I’ll help you.”

He nodded stiffly, looking a little more confident.

Her father needed the reassurance. But the honest truth: she had not a single idea how to keep people alive in the face of an attack like this. She was the furthest thing from a general. However, she just spent months with some of the best war strategists she had ever met; was it too much to hope they had rubbed off just a little bit?

Securing her own family would be her first priority, and Garth seemed zealous to make sure that was done. Collaboration with the neighbors remained their best option. The hobbits lacked the skill that could defeat the orcs, but together, they might be able to keep them at bay until all those who could not protect themselves found safety. The ale cellar, buried deep in their smial, offered the most efficient protection.

Next was personal defense. Life had to go on as normal even with the threat, so she could not gather her brothers, sisters, and their precious younglings under one roof to keep an eye on all of them. She would have to suffice with knowing they were capable of defending themselves long enough to barricade their families.

A few hesitated to the point of practically refusing, and she had to play dirty.

“If you don’t do this, those kids aren’t going to live through this,” she said sternly, eyeing her three sisters. “I promise you that. And it won’t be quick and painless. They _will_ suffer.”

Even Dugon gave her a scowl, but the heat behind it could not compare to the inferno of the mothers standing before her, and all those times she used to fear the suspicious hostility of dwarves suddenly felt incredibly inferior.

“You’re a right arse, you know that?” Margow growled. Her voice had never gone that deep.

“How could you say that?” Ivy mumbled, a palm covering the round of her belly.

“What my baby sister lacks in tact, love,” Dugon sighed, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders, “she triumphs in accuracy. We have to face the facts here. She’s encountered orcs before, and she knows what they’re all about. I think it’s about time we lent her an ear, as much as we found she’s been right so far.”

She grinned at him. “This won’t be easy, but if we’re prepared, we stand a good chance. Orcs are sentient, but they don’t have smarts. There’s a chance we can keep out of their way long enough to make them bored, but if not, you need to be able to get a few good hits on them. They _will_ go after the little ones above all others.”

Margow sighed. “Yeah, that’s a given. So, lead the way.”

The spark was sufficient to light the kindling, and it seemed to ignite something that had waited within. Bucklanders were doers, and Cori’s family was no exception. What gave them ferocity in the swings of their swords was just that, but she saw something else, too. She saw the same flame that smoldered in their mother’s eyes a little while ago. The desire to throw themselves headlong into danger for the sake of their children. That determination would be the strongest fuel against their enemy. She smirked; the orcs had no idea what they would be up against.

Barbarella required no such persuasion. One look from her husband told her all she needed to know, and there she stood, cleaving at a tree with surprisingly quick strikes. Cori, initially expecting very little from the woman at her age, just stood to take in the scene, feeling as if she watched somebody she had never met before. Naiveté did not hold her mother back, it seemed; so, all this time, it had just been the desire to _forget_ that danger existed rather than a stalwart belief that it was not real. And Cori felt conflicted about whether or not she should sympathize or feel more frustrated at it being a conscious decision and not plain ignorance. She had had it for weeks now, at least partially. Living even in an illusion of peace was a powerful solace.

And finally, she witnessed a miracle. The Master of Buckland declared the circumstances an emergency and encouraged that all hobbits up and down the Brandywine be prepared for the worst. An immediate response took place, and soon, seeing a group practicing swordsmanship was as commonplace as a person kneeling in their garden. Old acquaintances of Cori’s, entirely aware of her knowledge of the world, sought her out for advice. She complied, satisfied that they did not call upon some feigned friendship from the past to convince her to do it, but left it implied that they still saw her as bizarre for knowing such things. She was proud of what she knew; it would help to keep her people alive.

Before long, news came that the rest of the Shire had received the word of the Master. Encouragements from the Rangers as well resulted in a similar call from the Thain for the hobbits to act. A week after the Rangers’ visit to Berry Bunch Bend, requests from the Shire for instructors in defense were met. Those proficient enough in the art were sent as far as Tuckborough (the Took clan naturally had a high demand). Cori made sure that those going to Hobbiton found Bilbo, as he would be a proficient aid in the training.

While she wished to stay in Buckleberry with her family close by, Cori could not ignore the call. She ended up in the rural town of Whitfurrows, a good clip from the bridge and right on the East Road. Everyone there seemed to grow their own food while keeping a separate occupation. The cash crop was cotton, and almost every house she visited had a couple spinning wheels in them. So they were a textile culture there. Certainly not fighters. But she would nip that in the bud, even if they opposed loudly and incessantly.

In her free time, she carved and strung herself a new bow. She had never made one before, only practiced the craft on some nearby wood when she was bored that would eventually be tossed into her campfire. With the intent to actually keep this one, she put her full attention into detail and balance, eventually creating something truly worth looking at that actually worked. But, of course, she just had to bungle it up by seeing how well she could carve a bird into the top arm. She realized her mistake when it resembled a raven. Fixing it would mean adjusting the entire bow, and she liked the flower petals and stems that wrapped around it. She could pretend it was a crow, right?

Between herself and her two partners, Clovis and Dianella, they had most of the folk there in working condition within the week. It was a little unnerving, going two weeks without hearing a word from the Rangers of whether or not the situation had escalated, and the hobbits were getting anxious as well. They wondered when the scare would blow over and allow them to get back to their preparations for the Midsummer’s Eve festivals in peace. Cori had no answer to give, and their frustrations showed each time she interacted with them. It was a constant battle she quickly grew tired of.

At least she had her companions for entertainment. Dianella could hold her own in a drinking contest, and Cori spent a night at the bar at the inn with her that resulted in a smashing headache but a crashing victory. Clovis was woefully twitterpated with her, and she felt horrible for giggling about it with Dia behind his back. He had a pretty face; she would have considered it at one time, if only for a quick romp in one of the rooms. Now, her heart would not allow even a night of purely physical sensuality. She meant it; no one else would touch her again. Still, he was good company with an adept sword arm and a masterful story teller.

At the end of the week, the three Bucklanders rewarded themselves for a job well done with another indulgent night at the tavern. The two women listened intently when Clovis went off about some mischief he and a few lads caused in their early tweens. Halfway through the story and a mug of decent ale, Cori picked up a sound from outside the currently dead tavern. She turned to the door, listening. Galloping horses, urgent and heavy.

“Cori, what is it?” Dia asked, brow knitted.

She ignored her, jumping up from her stool and rushing to the door. The other patrons looked up as she ran, staring in confusion and rising from their seats. And then, without realizing what she was doing, she threw open the door and stuck her head out. It just happened to be far enough to feel the wind of an arrow rush past and lodge into the side of the building next to the door.

_Bollocks!_

She jumped back in and slammed the door, sprinting back to the bar and her companions. “We have a problem.”

“Isn’t that the whole reason we’re in this town?!” Clovis shouted at her. “What is it?”

“I’m going to have to be stupid and go find out,” she yelled around her shoulder, hearing Dia hand out orders to the other attendees. With her quiver strapped across her back, she drew her bow and ran to the window. The glare from the torches against the glass obscured her view of the darkness outside, but she hardly needed much to tell that those were neither orcs nor orcs on wargs. Icy dread hit her stomach.

They were Men. And she knew exactly what kind.

“Cori, Rangers!” Clovis called from his position beneath the window opposite to her.

“Not quite, lad.” She winced at the tremble in her voice. Her heart thudded wildly. It was no use trying to suppress the fear in her at facing these men again; she would just have to use it to keep herself alive. “This is a lot worse than orcs.”

“Are those the Men that you said were terrorizing the dwarves?” Dia asked, ducking down beside Cori.

“Precisely.”

The woman looked up to the window apprehensively. “They don’t fight like orcs, do they?”

Cori gritted her teeth. No, they certainly did not. The townsfolk would have trouble against orcs with only a week’s worth of training; they could never stand a chance against such skilled Men even if they handled a sword for months. “Has everyone gone down to the cellar?”

Dia nodded. “Barkeep’s locked himself in with everyone. I gave them the signal for when it’s us.”

“We need to get as many hobbits below ground as we can.” Cori drew an arrow and nocked it on the string of her bow. “There’s no fighting them. Our only option is to hide.”

Just before she set to give them the countdown for charging outside, the door burst open, splinters shattering off and flying across the room. Cori righted herself just as a leg appeared inside, and she wasted no time rushing it. She thrust the arrow upward, skewering the Man in the navel where she knew a crack in his armor would be. It went straight in, and he screamed, slashing at her with his longsword. She ducked and retrieved her weapon, slicing the flint tip through his thigh to bring him to her level before going for his throat for a quick mercy kill. He fell to the wood floor with a thump. After making sure no one waited right behind him, she ducked back behind the doorframe and released the breath she held.

She now had statues with fish mouths for companions.

“Where did you…?” Clovis squeaked, looking a poke to the stomach away from being sick. This would probably be the end of his little infatuation.

“You’re missing a lot of _that_ by living in the Shire.” She glanced back out the door just in time to see a house just across the way from the tavern go up in flames. Her throat clenched. “Come on. We need to get moving. And whatever you do, don’t freeze.” With the arrow back on the string, she bolted out of the inn and into the night. She took cover behind a clutter of shrubs and loosed a few onto the mounted soldiers that rode right by her with every intention to ignore her. They had no choice when they were falling from the saddle. Though their aim was off just a little, Dia and Clovis managed to snatch a couple between them. With the immediate area clear, Cori sprinted toward the house. Her next move became obsolete: the young family of three emerged from the smial, coughing but otherwise unscathed. She ran up to them and grabbed them on the shoulders. “Run to the inn and knock six times on the cellar door. Make sure you pause in between the third and fourth tap.”

The older hobbits nodded, grabbing their son’s hands between them and racing toward the tavern.

Just as they made it inside the door, another group of Men on horseback careened down the road from the north, and Cori readied her bow. However, when they were only a few yards away, she realized they had a tail. A group of Rangers galloped behind them, swords brandished and flashing in the light of the flames. The soldiers spurred frantically, disappearing into the darkness outside of town and showing no signs of stopping even when the Rangers reined up at the edge of the woods. Cori spun around, looking for the next group to descend on them, but nothing remained of the attackers except the destruction they left behind.

She took a breath, but a consuming urgency kept her on her toes. That had gone so fast she felt dizzy.

The Rangers trotted up to the three Bucklanders, the only hobbits in the area facing the soldiers with weapons. “There is a breach from the north. Rogue Men had gathered in the ruins of Annúminas and are now invading the Shire. The blockade in the Northfarthing failed, and they are coming in unchecked.”

“The same ones attacking the dwarves of Ered Luin,” she interrupted. “They’re led by Ryone of Rohan under the cause of greed. Nothing more. They need to be stopped. What of the orcs in the south?”

“We received word that they retreated toward the Misty Mountains two days ago. Those guarding down there remained in case they came back with an even stronger force, but their absence left the north wide open.”

Cori felt her stomach twist into a knot.

“We will take over defense here,” another of the riders said to the hobbits. “You should seek your families.”

“We are from Buckland,” Clovis replied, looking unsteady and puzzled by the news.

The first Man’s face softened. “Then you should stay here. We come from a checkpoint near Girdley Island. A large number of those masked Men came down the Brandywine in boats. If they were planning to sack, just like they did here, your homes in Buckland are most likely destroyed by now. Wait until we’ve gotten them under control and driven them out before you—”

Cori heard nothing else from the Ranger, neither through the ringing in her ears nor the distance that she covered as she dashed back toward the livery yard where their ponies were. She gave no thought to her things still in her room at the inn as she tossed her saddle onto Shadow’s back and tried her best not to hurt him with her uncontrollably trembling hands. Every thought aimed toward the best and quickest way she could get back to Buckleberry.

The orcs were a decoy to get the Rangers out the Northfarthing. There was no doubt in her mind that this was all planned and executed with precision.

Just as she directed Shadow through the gate and back out into the night, she nearly ran over Dia and Clovis, who struggled for breath from their sprint over. “Cori, wait,” Dia called. “Didn’t you hear what he said?”

“You two stay here and calm everyone down. I don’t care what you do after that.” Cori circled them in an attempt to warm up her pony so he would not tear a muscle in a sudden gallop. “But there won’t be enough Rangers to hold off the invaders in Buckland, and guess where all of _our_ fighters are? Scattered across the Shire, where they’ll probably end up dead from taking on the enemy hand-to-hand with only partially-trained recruits to back them. We’re done. There’s nothing left to do but get out and hide.” Swatting a rein onto Shadow’s rump, she pushed him into a gallop, pointing eastward to the river.

There were about ten miles to the Brandywine Bridge, then another ten before reaching Buckleberry, and that did not account for obstacles in her way. As Cori galloped the East Road, she felt tears drip out of her eyes from the fierce wind of Shadow’s speed and the force of guilt only a squeeze away from shattering her heart. She could see them. Her parents, her brothers and sisters, and the precious little gifts they had given her. They barely knew what it was to live at all; Rory, only two months with breath. Their parents would die before anything happened to them, then it would only be a matter of time. Her cheerful father, and the new blossoms of reconciliation budding with her mother. All gone.

She clung to Shadow’s mane after nearly falling off, allowing him to pick his own course along the road.

It was all her fault. Some part of her wanted to push away the irrationally ludicrous thought with the logical idea that, maybe, this had been inevitable from the beginning; Ryone may have eventually become tired of circling the Shire to see to his work and made a cut-through just this same way. And that could have possibly been what was happening now. But he was petty, and he got some sick pleasure out of corrupting innocence just because he could. She managed to escape his clutches, twice, after he had attempted to eliminate her for knowing his plans. He could abide no wild links that he could not control.

She defied him, and she marked him with a blade. This was his vengeance.

Would he have left her alone if she had never gotten involved with the dwarves? He never would have found her; she would have made sure of it. But no matter how hard she tried, she just could not regret ever meeting them.

She reached the bridge in less than an hour. The attendant’s house blazed in the darkness, but nobody was around. She had only a few minutes to look for him before she had to cross the river and continue on. A little ways down the road, she had to halt before the gate of Buckland. As expected, it was sealed tight. “Hal!” she called up to the high post next to the metal doors. “Hal! It’s Cori Houndbery! I’m alone! Hal?”

Within the glow of the small candle flickering above, a dark head poked out from over the railing. Two bright eyes glimmered with the light. Suddenly, the whole face shot up into view. “No place for anybody right now, Miss Houndberry. Least of all a hobbit. You’d best turn to Bree and cover your head for a while.”

“I need to get to my family. I’ll be just fine. Please, Hal.”

His heavy sigh overtook the song of the night creatures, something that seemed so out of place in the circumstances. Finally, the hobbit reached over and grabbed the cord dangling next to the tower. “Those Big Folk took out poor Bosco by the bridge, then shot down Aldo from their boats when he left the tower to yell out to them. Nasty folk. Once you’re past this gate, you’re on your own. Ain’t nothing I can do for you.”

“That’s all right. You just worry about yourself. Stay low if any more Men show up, all right? Even Rangers. Can’t trust anybody being who they say they are.”

He nodded, pulling the cord. Metal screeched through the air as the wheel shifted beneath the water to allow the river’s current to spin it. With it, the gate opened slowly and noisily in the quiet of the night. As soon as it was wide enough for Shadow to fit through, Cori urged him forward with one final wave to Hal.

Down the road she galloped as fast as her tiring pony could manage, the looming silhouette of the Hedge reaching up in the distance on her left. When passing the road leading up to Newbury and Crickhollow, she had to ignore the deep desire to inspect what damage could have been done. She had a small bit of comfort that Crickhollow’s isolation possibly saved them from being found, but it may have been too much to hope for. She had to remember who these people were.

Her first real encounter after Whitfurrows came at Brandy Hall.

Of all the places to remain stalwart in the face of an attack, she expected the great smials of the Brandybucks to rise above the rest. They were, after all, quite the brazen bunch. Their boldness may have cost them, though: the hill packed full with multiple homes stood out as the perfect target for those seeking nothing but chaos. In no way were they spared. Flames poured out of every orifice in the hill, hobbits doing the same from the three large doors with a firm grasp on their loved ones behind them. At first glance, nobody visible seemed to really be hurt, but that could not account for who may still have been inside the tunnels which, if Cori remembered correctly, went for at least a quarter of a mile into the hill.

From behind the hill, closer to the top, three Men cloaked and masked in black appeared onto the path leading to the smial entrances, watching the destruction from the backs of their horses. At first sight of them, the hobbits balked, trying to figure out another way down the steep hill. Cori felt anger at their play, preparing to charge up the hill to give them an idea of whose hive they poked. However, just as she wheeled Shadow around to face the road, she realized something that made her pause.

The hobbits who did not hold the hands of children took up whatever they could find, from swords to garden hoes, and formed a line in front of the Men. In a massive, furious cry of rage, they barreled toward the riders. She actually laughed aloud watching the Men rein in their spooked horses and take off back down the road as if a pack of wolves slobbered and snapped behind them. Cori drew her bow and fired as they ran right past her. The other two carried on without looking back as the third collapsed into the dirt, barely avoiding the hooves of his mount, though it hardly mattered. He did not move again. She pulled up beside him to yank the arrow out of his back before continuing down the road. These hobbits would be just fine for now.

Shadow dutifully trudged further than Cori felt comfortable pushing him, but as soon as he really began to show how tired he was, they came upon Buckleberry. Even in her haste, Cori had to stop and stare down the road. She prepared herself for the worst as she drew closer; no matter what, she had to be ready to take action. But this was nothing she could truly have been ready to see, _ever_. Her childhood home, completely engulfed in flames. She felt the tears, and cared little about them.

This was the last place where she could recover the innocence she had lost to the world just outside this peaceful haven. Now it was tainted. She had nowhere else to seek that shelter.

As she trotted through the streets, dodging the hobbits that ran about wildly with their weapons in hand but no true idea of how to fight, Cori felt the force of some long-lost memory that involved burning crop barns and smoke pouring from the open doorways of the smials. No, not a memory. Had she not dreamt this before? Right down to the beautiful gardens razed to black ash? Before, she could not see the cause of the horror on the hobbits’ faces as they ran about, questing for the help that would not come. Now, their bane came as dark cloths beneath shining eyes on great, menacing horses. She felt no better knowing.

They came in from the northern end of the town, which meant she was closer to Dugon than she was her parents’ house. She had to trust that Garth would keep them safe, so she turned down the path leading toward her oldest brother’s wheat farm. As she came around the hill blocking his property from the main road, she found the sight she was quickly growing tired of. Yet, the proximity to her heart that this one held made her see red. She readied her bow once more as she cantered along the burnt fields on either side of the path to the smial, gaze fixed on the Men lingering outside the home and watching it be consumed from the inside. No one here that threatened her family would see the next sunrise. “Hey!” she screamed, her voice squeaking with the force. She jumped from Shadow’s back and marched toward the mounted group of four. “Plant those ugly mugs right on me!”

The soldiers only had a quick laugh between them before two arrows found their marks in a pair of necks. Both had been from the same draw. Without sparing another second, she buried another point in the third neck. Then, finally, the last one easily slipped into the leg of the fleeing fourth. His horse shied, throwing his balance off and sending him to the ground. He could only crawl pathetically for a few feet, clawing helplessly at the spire in his leg, before she pressed her boot to his throat and pushed him to the ground. The minor pressure on his windpipe had him gasping, but she refused to relent. With her knife held to his cheek, she knelt down until she hovered a breath away. “Where is your master, scum?” she snarled. “Ryone should be expecting me soon.”

He sneered, looking all of a few seconds away from spitting in her face. Her knowledge of the name had thrown him off, obviously. “Do it,” he whispered, hand clamped around her ankle. “All you’re going to get from me is my life.”

“I don’t want your life!” she hollered, wishing it were true if only to get rid of his terrifying thirst for blood rising in her. It made her want to vomit. “But the longer you refuse to talk, the slower I’ll do the taking.” She pressed the edge of her blade into his skin, watching the red stream dribble down into the grass.

No matter how much she tried to be, she knew she was not a sinister sight. His face remained neutral, waiting for her next move. This would be fruitless. Her talk was big, but she could not stomach the idea of torturing what she wanted out of somebody. So, before his expression could change, she moved her foot and buried the knife in his throat. The light and life left his eyes quickly, and she looked away before the dullness completely took over. Her breaths came quickly, and she concentrated on evening them out in case she dropped to her knees and emptied her stomach.

She had no idea what she had been doing anyway. If an entire army of trained dwarves could not get to Ryone, how would she? She had one failed attempt under her belt, and the next way she may not walk away from. But somebody could make use of the information. _He_ wanted it, if he did not already know, as resourceful as he was. No use troubling over it now.

Dropping her weapons onto the ground, she tried to peer into the burning smial. “Dugon!” she called, removing her jacket as well. “Don’t you be bloody dead, you tosser.” With a deep growl, she charged through the wall of smoke and into the door.

The support beams, furniture, and curtains kept the fire blazing in the small, subterranean home. The windows remained closed, so the only ventilation came through the front door and the chimney. The heat was stifling. But at least she knew where to go. Thankful for her boots, she scampered down the back hall of the home to the last door on the right. Of course, it did not give to her tugs. She pushed her sword into the crack and wrenched the lock out of the door frame, sighing in relief at the rush of cool air that met her as she did so. “Dugon!” she hollered down the stairway into the darkness. “Ivy! It’s just me! Is everyone all right?”

After a heart-stopping moment, the flustered face of her sister-in-law appeared at the bottom of the stairs, two-year-old Lotus perched on her hip. “Cori! Dugon’s hurt, but it’s not too bad.”

“The house is burning. You need to get out.” Cori tumbled down the steps, making a show out of nearly floundering onto the floor to pull a laugh from the whimpering toddler. “Are you all right?” Cori asked the woman.

Ivy nodded, free hand splayed on her stomach. “Me and the girls got down here before they came to the house. Dugon followed and locked us all down here, but he was bleeding pretty bad.”

Her brother lay in a heap at the back of the cellar, five-year-old Poppy in his lap, her little hands doing what they could to push a towel onto his arm. Dugon grinned when he saw her. “You’ve got a way of just showing up, don’t you, sis?”

She smiled back. “Just when you need me, Pops.”

The five of them evacuated the smial without any trouble. Cori made sure Ivy knew to keep the girls’ eyes away from the right side of the yard where she left her mess. Dugon seemed a little out of sorts, but the bleeding from the sword slash in his forearm had stopped. “We’re fine here,” he assured her, grinning as his wife took his blade in her hand without a second thought. “You need to go find Ma and Pa. We’ll make a stop by Maggy’s place.”

“Are you sure you’re fine?” she asked, pulling him into a hug to calm her racing heart.

He glanced toward his burning home and frowned, but gave a decisive nod. “We’ll make it. Just go. We’ll catch up later.”

Passing around a few kisses to the girls, Cori hopped back up onto Shadow and galloped down the road. The destruction continued as she breezed south along the river, but there were no signs of any masked soldiers. Only a few Rangers that popped up here and there made any deviation in the sight of the weeping and angry hobbits clinging to their loved ones as they watched their fields and homes dwindle to ash. Cori turned from it all, trying not to follow the path that led to the dark swamp of remorse flooding her heart. That could come later.

Was it too much to hope that the house she grew up in would not be touched? Obviously. She slid from Shadow’s back and stared at the flames as they crumbled the frame on the inside. A clump of dirt collapsed through the roof and piled up just inside the doorway. Arms wrapped around her, though she only half-heartedly acknowledged them. The tender sturdiness of her mother’s embrace was what kept her from letting her legs give out beneath her.

“It’s all right, Cori,” the woman murmured into her ear, smoothing her sweaty hair from her face.

 _Everything will be all right_ , khajimele.

She had little reason left to believe that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You probably don't remember that dream of the Shire burning that she had closer to the beginning of the story, but here it is. And no, she's not psychic. It's what I call "cliché foreshadowing." XD I can't remember who said it, but somebody guessed that it was the Scouring of the Shire from the War of the Ring. Does this count?  
> The next couple of chapters will be following the hobbits. I know you came here for hot dwarves, but if you can be patient for a bit, we'll get back to them. The story's called "The Service of HOBBITS" after all. ;D  
> Also, we've just gone over 3000 hits for this story and I'm absolutely blown away! Thanks to all my readers! <3 You guys have the best things to say about this story and I love you all for it! *smooches*


	32. The Force of the Shire

The morning shined with a cheery warm sun, however obscured it was behind a thick haze of smoke. The birds chirped their usual songs, and everything glistened with fresh dew. By nature alone, one could assume everything was right and merry, as it should be in a place so green and bursting with life. The rest of the world moved on, even when a part of it had crumbled to the ground.

The light of day only illuminated what had occurred in the deep night, failing to bring about some longed-for aspirations for better things. Hope had left, but there was no time to let despair take root. The hobbits of Buckland gave up on staring at the destruction of their village and wishing for the nightmare to give way to another mundane day. As soon as the dawn allowed them their sight, they began to shuffle through what was left of their homes.

Almost every single smial along the road south to Standelf had been burnt or collapsed. Whole mounds filled in, burying anything that could have been salvaged from the fires. Windows were shattered and doors wrenched off their hinges. Many hobbits wept over scorched gardens that sat in their exact spots since their parents lived there.

The year’s harvest was completely ruined. Any vegetables and fruits that had begun to grow were ripped from their stalks and roots. The sprouts were stomped out, the dirt around them tattling on the hooved culprits. The corn and wheat still smoldered where torches had ravaged them mercilessly. Upon closer inspection, the farmers realized that much of the earth had been salted; it would take meticulous care to bring back their full fertility, but they had no choice, as there was very little free land left between the river and the forest. The weeping grew even more intense as the number of undisturbed fields shrank.

And they were the fortunate ones.

Nearly all bodies could be identified, but that made things no better. Some lay in their own front yards, their grieving loved ones stooping over them. A few scenes like those erupted into screams of joy as the prone victims crept off of death’s doorstep. Others could not share in such miracles. They, instead, had to wrap up their dead in blankets and take them somewhere to be prepared for burial. Barns that had been left untouched soon became makeshift infirmaries, where the treatable were seen to and the rest spent their last moments in suffering.

There was very little conviction that the rest of the Shire fared any better. As some of the trainers that had been sent out to other towns the week before returned, they brought news of massive devastation on the northwestern bank of the river. The Men had swept through like a tidal wave and carried off the peace and surety.

The Houndberry family remained intact. Dennon and Dugon were the only ones injured; Dugon’s arm needed some stitching, and the split on Dennon’s forehead stopped bleeding shortly after a clean cloth was placed over it. Word from other relatives had yet to come in, but it would only be a matter of time. The children, shaken but unharmed, stood quietly with each other, never straying too far from their parents. The light in their eyes had dimmed just a little, and they had been divested of small pieces of innocence that stood out glaringly where their usual jovial faces were.

Cori seethed at the sight.

She stared at the valley where her parents’ home once sat. The place had been a tributary of the Brandywine. As Buckland expanded and became the home of many more hobbit families aside from the Brandybucks, the demand for land and room called for a dam to block the water that split off from the main channel. The soldiers damaged the dam, and in the early hours of the morning, it failed. They barely had enough time to get out before the valley flooded. All those fields, her garden, their house now sat beneath deep churning water filled with the debris from all the dwellings within it.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

She turned away from the image before her, the interruption causing the emotions on the brink of spilling out to recede for the time being. Behind her stood a Ranger, one of few who had remained to help the hobbits care for their wounded. Yet there was a little more to this one than there was to the others, and while it took her a moment to figure it out, she came back pleasantly surprised once she did. “What for?”

“Ruthren was right. He said something about seeing that little hobbit we picked up out of the wilderness all those months ago, looking right at home in a field of cabbages. That was a week ago.”

What a small world for a little hobbit to be lost in. “It’s been a while since we shared a campfire, Ranger. I’m surprised you remembered.”

“You’re not one easily forgotten.” He glared out over the water that sparkled in the sunlight as it ran through the valley toward the Hedge. “Ruthren looked for you when he came here to fight during the attack. He didn’t find you, and we all expected you and your little sword were one of the first to go after the rogues, and one of the first to fall. He’ll be a mess when he hears you made it through.”

“I wasn’t here when the fighting started.” Things would have turned out much differently if Buckland still had its fighters in the invasion.

“He said you were on a farm down the third path on the left from the boat. Was this your home?” He suddenly looked disturbed at a new thought that just came to him.

“Yes, it was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s still there. Just a little wet.”

He chuckled. “If only we could all be as optimistic as you. You talk a big game, but you certainly deliver. Surviving orcs _and_ dwarves. I must admit you’ve defied all expectations I had about you.”

She chose not to inform him that she knew he had been talking smack about her behind her back as she sheltered with them in the wilderness south of the Shire. “I tend to do that.”

“I’m going to guess you were involved with the dwarves and their squabbles.”

She nodded. “Right in the middle of it.”

“So you’re aware of who’s behind this?”

“Ryone of Rohan. Happen to know where he is now?”

“Hiding out in the northern part of the Hills of Evendim. Elves from the Grey Havens chased them up there from the lake after the dwarves invaded his hideout in the Númenórean ruins up there, but he settled in a place that was perfect for a defensive: right on a cliff that couldn’t be scaled and with plenty of open space around it to see an ambush at least a mile away. It seems he also found passages that slipped by even the elven and mannish sentries watching them for the past month, since he managed to get so many of his men down here.”

“He gets his way when he wants it.”

His brow quirked up. “You were at Annúminas, too, weren’t you? You saw him?”

Again, she nodded. _Oh, I saw him._

“I assume you would want to know that the dwarves are planning to march on him soon.”

Her ears perked. “Yes, I would.”

“We’ve kept contact with King Thorin. He remains in Ered Luin, building up another army to go against Ryone again, but he lacks sufficient numbers.”

“Numbers mean little to dwarves.”

“That may be, but they’re mighty helpful. Ryone’s forces have only grown stronger since Annúminas. He’s called in more supporters from unknown places, and they severely overwhelm even the elves from the Grey Havens. The grey wizard has advised the dwarves against open combat with them many times.”

“Why? What other options are there?”

“I believe he’s stalling for time, looking for a more cunning way to approach this. Perhaps he intends to contact Rivendell, but they are busy keeping their borders clear of orcs at the moment, so I doubt Lord Elrond would spare troops.”

“I don’t know how readily the dwarves would take to having to fight next to elves. Again. I doubt they would wait around for the extra hand, if that’s where it came from. We’ve already tried to surprise him once, and that blew up in our faces.”

“It seems you’ve found the answer that the rest of us came to,” he said with a smirk. “There really is no choice but to meet him head-on.”

She glanced back toward the road, watching the hobbits move about their demolished homes for a moment. She had an idea of who would want to enter a glorious battle for justice.

“Ruthren went to inform the dwarves about the attack. We managed to take out a good few of the raiders, so they might appreciate the advantage, however slight it is. But I’m afraid he may carry the news that you’re missing; he left only a short while after the attack halted.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she told him, wondering if the fallout was actually something to worry about. “Thank you.”

He bowed his head. “Good luck to you and your family, Miss Hobbit, though considering what you’ve managed to survive so far, I’d say the tidings are unnecessary.”

She sent him a half-hearted grin. “I’ll take them anyway.”

With a small touch to her shoulder, he slipped away with all the litheness of a seasoned hunter.

He probably had no idea what exactly she planned to do with the information he just gave her, and were it to hit him suddenly, he likely would not approve either and may even try to stop her. Luckily for her, she was not one to be stopped easily.

The first thing she did when finally locating her brother, who was tending to the family ponies, was grab his shoulder and say straight into his face, “I need your help.”

Garth stared down at her, blinking a few times. “With?”

“I’m going after him.”

“Who?”

She rolled her eyes. “Who do you think? The Man responsible for this.” This was the second time now she chose to go after Ryone despite all the warnings and the pleadings in her mind to _stay away remember what happened last time!_ But this would be the last time, she knew. If she did not succeed, it would be her end as well, and that would be fine. At least she knew she would have given it all to get rid of him. “I need your help. We have to rally an army.”

“Whoa, hold on!” He grasped her upper arms tightly, concern mingling with the bewilderment on his face. “Are you being serious?”

“Completely. This guy’s going after the dwarves, too. If we join forces with them, we stand a chance at taking him out.”

“Did that Ranger put you up to this? He stood with you for an awfully long time.”

“So this doesn’t sound like something I could conjure up myself?”

He sighed, letting his head drop forward a little. “I suppose it does.”

“Are you going to stop me, brother?”

When he raised his head, a mischievous gleam twinkled in his eye. “I daren’t stand in your warpath, sis. I’ll get trampled for sure. I’m better off walking on it.”

She patted his shoulder. “Now it’s starting to sound like it used to be.”

“You know I’ll always take your side.” Then he stopped, and a shadow fell over his face. “But I…I don’t know. There’s just…”

She saw the doubt in his mind. It was hardly hesitation due to fear; he wanted to fight back. But she could see a shadow in there, similar to the one that clouded her thoughts almost every day. The deep, consuming desire to know if the one he loved was safe and unharmed. He worried for Basil, who had stayed in Tuckborough after the first whispers of the orcs trickled through the Shire. There had been no news of places so far west.

“You know what?” she finally said. “I bet the Tooks’ll be raring to sink their teeth into the monsters that caused this. You know how they are: not too different to us Bucklanders. We’ll stop in there and gather as many as we can muster, and you can get an eyeful of your lass. How’s that sound?”

The anxiety seemed placated for the moment. “Like a plan.”

_Or heavy reliance on improvisation._

So the dwarves were marching on Ryone again. And with insufficient numbers. Her cantankerous king would die before admitting any challenge was too great to meet, even if a wise wizard advised against it. Maybe there was something she could do to make sure that did not happen before she had a chance to speak with him once more, even if it was for the last time.

                 ****************************

“You’re going to do what now?”

Of course, as soon as Cori began to spread the word around their battered little town, her mother clung to the grapevine.

“Not sit on our ar…behinds and let another attack like this happen again.” She glanced toward the two boys playing at the foot of their grandfather’s chair. There really was no room to have a private adult talk in this place now.

The two homes belonging to Chrys and Maggy had been spared enough that only a few days’ worth of renovations made them livable once again. Naturally, Dugon’s family moved into Maggy and Therry’s house, as it had fewer occupants to begin with, and the alpha Houndberry pair now stayed with Chrys, Orlo, and their three lads. Cori and Garth bunked in the untouched yet still unfinished shell of the new home he would share with his bride, making plans for the proposal toward the officials of Buckland.

(Garth lamented several times how the first woman to share the home with him was not his wife. Twice, he rolled over on their mutual floor mat and proclaimed, “Not the face I wanted to see first thing in the morning.” The second time it happened, she replied, “Well, neither is your kisser,” mumbling about how it was missing a thick black beard.)

Barbarella stood from the chair she sat in, her back straight as a post and chin lifted high. “I also feel the people responsible for this deserve to be brought to justice, but seeing as we failed to keep them from destroying our homes in the first place, I don’t believe we’re qualified to do this. If this is indeed the same Man that is causing trouble with the dwarves, surely they can take care of him.”

“The dwarves are outnumbered,” Cori replied. “They’ll be slaughtered like pigs before they can make a dent in Ryone’s ranks. And guess where he’ll come once they’re out of the way? A weakened land that was weak to begin with and ripe for the picking.”

“What caused them to attack us anyway?” Orlo asked, fingers drumming restlessly along the side of the mug of ale between his hands. “What did they want?”

“Me,” Cori blurted out, tired of the secrets and the lies. The weight that lifted from her shoulders during her chat with the dwarves was almost euphoric, even if it ended in an unpleasant way. She turned away from the fireplace and met the eyes of her family. “I think. I slighted him. His anger is devastating enough to drive him toward doing this.”

“How do you know so much about him?” Garth asked. “Did he capture you?”

Everyone in the room seemed to bristle at his words.

Cori turned to her father, who sat in an armchair with little Rorimac sleeping in his arms. “How much do you know about what I did?”

Dennon tilted his head, puzzled. “I know that you paid for that tonic that saved Garth’s life by offering your services to the Man that gave it to you. An old friend of mine saw you talking with an apothecary in Bree right before you came home. What does that have to do with what’s going on now?”

“What?” Garth interrupted, staring at his sister with narrowed eyes. “That’s how you got that?” Then a bridge connected in his mind. “It was Ryone, wasn’t it?”

She nodded. “The same man who’s been fighting the dwarves and has now attacked us. I worked for him for a time. That’s why I left again after Garth got better.”

“Let me guess.” Barbarella’s face was neutral, and her voice steady. A good sign that she was panicking on the inside. “You didn’t fulfill the debt.”

“Oh, I did,” she replied shakily, a shiver trickling down her spine. “But he wasn’t too happy about me fighting against him with the dwarves. You’re right. He did capture me, and in escaping, I injured him and his henchmen. I can’t say for sure whether or not he did all this to spite me, since it’s in compliance with his cause that he sweep out the Shire the same way he is the Blue Mountains. But I was never supposed to survive both times I ran from him, and he doesn’t forgive easily.”

The room sat quietly for a moment, and in a split-second decision, Cori chose not to tell them _everything._ And with a silent curse to herself, she realized that it was for the exact same reason, coupled with the exact excuses, that she did not tell the dwarves. In losing one relationship in the Blue Mountains, she had rebuilt pieces of the others here in the Shire that she had run away from her whole life. Her reputation was tarnished elsewhere, but if it could survive here, she would give anything. None of it would matter once Ryone was gone. _When are you ever going to grow a backbone, stupid girl?_

A heavy sigh broke the silence, and it came from her sister. “Oh, Cori,” Chrys said, a hint of a fond smile on her face as she came around the tea table to pull the younger girl into a hug. “You don’t have to forfeit yourself when you want to help someone. That does no one any good.”

“All choices have good and bad consequences,” Barbarella added, staring numbly at her folded hands on the table. “Sometimes the right path isn’t obvious.”

Cori gaped. Of all the things she had expected to hear from her mother, something resembling understanding had not been amongst the highly-anticipated results. A chastening lecture perhaps, but actually agreeing with her decision?

Barbarella must have noticed her expression because she shrugged. “It saved Garth’s life. I can’t see that being a bad outcome.”

“I agree,” Dennon said, extending a smile to his wife and daughter.

As Garth slipped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her temple, Cori realized that they were right. Had she not done what she did, she would not have her little brother there to stand by her as she marched into war. A lot of horrible things came with Ryone, but the warm embrace she now sank into was not among those. There are no black and white choices.

“So what’re you proposing again?” Dennon asked, steering the conversation back onto its original path. “You want to build an army to fight back?”

“We’ve already begun,” Garth said with a proud grin. “I mentioned it to a few buddies, and now they’ve spread the word. We already have more than a dozen volunteers who are working on their swordsmanship as we speak.”

“Has the Master said anything?” Orlo asked.

Cori shook her head. “And if he says no, we’re still going to do it.”

“Everybody we’ve talked to has already considered Cori to lead us,” Garth continued. “Her experience in the world surpasses everyone’s, so she’s more equipped to navigate out there. Or so they say.”

“They’re forgetting I’m no military leader,” she murmured.

“And that’s why we’ll try to convince a few of the Master’s officials to stand with us, so we can remain organized. But you understand what’s going on with this Man better than the rest of us, as you’ve just announced. So the strategizing is your domain.”

She was not good at that either. _We’re doomed either way, so how about we go out with a grand shout?_

“When do you plan to leave?” Barbarella asked, looking a little pale.

“Once the dam is fixed,” Cori replied. “So a few days. That’ll give us enough time to spread the word and get a sufficient following. That way, the Master won’t have much room to refuse.”

“Nobody should know,” Barbarella said, standing from her chair. “About your involvement with this Man. They’ll jump to conclusions and think you’re responsible for the attack.”

Cori shrugged. “Ma, I might be.”

“But we’re not jumping to conclusions, are we?” Her wink was subtle and elegant, and Cori gave a little laugh as she leaned forward to fall into her mother’s arms. Thank Yavanna for a mother’s unconditional devotion.

“You shouldn’t come,” Garth said to their father, gesturing to the cloth wrapped around his head.

Dennon nodded reluctantly. “I know. Not as if your mother would let me anyway. Ivy’s probably going to want to keep Dugon as well.”

“No one has to come,” Cori said, going over to take Rory from Dennon as she looked between Chrys and Orlo. She kissed his pink nose and thanked Yavanna for little miracles. “Especially not with the wee ones. You’ll do just as much good here rebuilding as you would on a battlefield.”

Chrys nodded, grasping her husband’s hand. “We’ll take you up on that, sis.”

After consulting with the rest of the family, due to the number of small children present, it was decided that Cori and Garth would be the only ones marching with the Houndberry name. That made Cori feel infinitely better about this; she could not stomach the thought of any of her tiny troop losing a parent in all this. It had already come much too close to that.

Cori felt it counterproductive to warn any of their volunteers that their side of the fight would be outnumbered by at least twice their amount, even when combined with the dwarves. Would it have mattered to them? They pledged to march, even if it would be to their deaths. She regretted that it may come to that.

By the time the dam against the stream leading to Berry Bunch Bend had been erected and no more water flowed into the valley, Cori and Garth had fifty-one signatures for their army. Fifty-one enthusiastic men and women from all up and down the eastern bank of the Brandywine, eager to throw some punches for the troubles they had been caused. And it was more than enough to convince the Master to officiate the endeavor. They gained two more, a pair of militia leaders who could train the farmers, weavers, and jam packers to recognize orders and signals one might see in the midst of battle. Cori made sure she would get a private tutoring on which signals to give.

The time soon came to depart.

“You know, we could really use you and your green thumb here,” Dugon said, restlessly flexing the hand lying in a sling around his shoulder.

Cori let out a forceful breath. The last thing she needed was her protective older brother trying to reign over her mind, especially when he used guilt as his main tactic. “We all have a part to play in this. It’s your job to feed people, and it’s my job to shoot things. If we stick to that, we may get out of this alive.”

He nodded. The pain on his face did not come from his sliced arm. His nose twitching, he wrapped his good one around her shoulders and squeezed. “You’re a force, Cori. The stoutest heart I’ve ever seen. If anybody can make something happen, it’s you.”

She thought less of her own judgment now than she ever did the rest of the hobbits’. All she had managed to accomplish was ruin everything good that ever happened to her by doing what she thought was right. One would think, after hearing others express their confidence in her, she would begin to believe it was true. However, no matter the challenge that presented itself, she would meet it head-on. Something had to be done before Ryone’s madness devoured more lives.

Things seemed a little brighter once she got a hug and a kiss from each niece and nephew that was capable of it.

“You’ve got generations of fighters and survivors in your blood,” Dennon told them with an arm around his wife, a look of pride on both their concerned faces. “About time you made use of it.”

“Be better than they were at it, though,” Barbarella said, pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads. She stopped and stared into Cori’s eyes, both hands clasped on the girl’s cheeks. “And you come back to us.”

Cori nodded, but only as a silent promise that she would make sure her brother could come home. If she was the only one that knew the finer details of that promise, things were better off for it.

The sun shone hot above the Shire on the seventeenth day of June, only a few days away from Midyear’s Day, as the army from Buckland set out on their march. However, the majority of those in the party were not soldiers. While the Houndberry clan drew a lucky lot having houses that were left nearly whole, many of the other hobbit families did not. Some of the southern towns on the western side took little damage, as that was where the majority of the Ranger presence had been during the invasion. They were more than willing and well-equipped to take in those in Buckland who could not.

If the weight of leadership of a troop of soldiers did not leave Cori nearly tied in knots, making sure four dozen more refugees had enough to eat on the short journey to Deephallow nearly had her biting her nails to the quick. While the fighters earnestly followed her lead without question, many of the men and women traveling with them seemed to have a lot to say about her. Their attitude probably had as much to do with her sex as it did her age.

“How does it do to let a funny lass like that lead an army to battle? Has she even come of age yet?”

“Spends all her time out in the wild like those Easterlings from those stories, then prances back in to lead us to war?”

“What’s fishy is how this all came about when she finally returned home. That girl’s trouble. I’d think twice about marching anywhere with her in the lead.”

“And what do you think you’re doing now, Byrtha?”

Garth, perfectly aware of his sister’s abilities and her reservations about anyone who questioned them, nearly laughed himself into choking on his sausages as he listened to the murmurings. Cori slapped him on the back of the head with the feathered tip of her arrow.

Still, they had a point. She stared at the mounted hobbits with their makeshift armor and poorly-crafted weapons, all looking to her for answers and orders, and her heart thudded loud enough to be heard in Bree. She gulped, feeling as if she stood at the edge of a cliff, looking over at the sheer drop. _This_ was leadership? She never thought she would ever taste it, and now that she had, she never wanted it again.

She understood Thorin like she never had before. She knew why he balked concerning the coexistence of his own leadership and their relationship. As a king, he had the criticism she now received aimed at him at all times (though she could hardly think where he might go wrong as a commander). People talked, rumors spread like wildfire, then all of a sudden, he had people questioning his abilities and qualifications. Once the enthusiasm for action wore off, the soldiers may follow suit. The willingness to submit to somebody hung by a thin thread, and she knew it would take her best effort to gain the hobbits’ loyalty. She could see were an adjustment to a personal life, like forfeiting a relationship, may be a requirement in such a circumstance.

Now she understood her place. She knew why he did what he did, and while part of her wanted to let her temper rage at him, she set aside the selfish thought and tried to put herself where he stood. In the end, she could not blame him. She, a lone little hobbit, was mediocre in comparison to the troubles plaguing the dwarves. She always thought that of herself. If it came down to her or his people, she would take up the sacrifice. There were lives at stake, and she would not be responsible for their early conclusion again.

Her agitation toward him dissipated; it left her with nothing but the yearning for his closeness and the sadness that she most likely would never have it again. She preferred the anger.

“You all right, miss?”

Cori jerked her head up, a curse at herself springing from her mouth before she could stop it. Why could she not keep her head like a normal person? One day, she was going to walk right into a tree and knock herself out. Quite pitiful that she hoped for it since it might set her straight. She looked to her left and found a wide-eyed girl, probably nearing the end of her tweens, atop a chestnut pony riding next to her. The bewildered set of her brow made Cori giggle, and she waved her off when the girl gave her a more puzzled look. “You’d tell me if I suddenly sprouted a beard, wouldn’t you? Because I have, judging by your face.” Funny how a beard was the first thing that came to mind.

The girl shook her head, then nodded, clearly confused which answer fulfilled the combined question and statement. Cori understood.

“You need something, lass?” she asked, remembering that the girl had called her out of her stupor for a reason.

The golden curls shifted around her head when she shook it once again. “Not really. You just looked a little sad is all. Pa noticed, and he didn’t want to interrupt you. Afraid you might…”

Cori snorted. “Start crying?” She glanced back around her shoulder, briefly catching the eye of one of the Master’s officials that was sent to oversee the integration of the refugees into their new home. The resemblance between him and the hobbit next to her was uncanny. “Wonder what other kinds of hysterics they’re expecting me to fall into once the real stuff happens.”

“So you’re really going into battle?”

The girl hardly looked affected by her own words, not in the way that some of the other hobbits reacted when it finally hit them. To anybody looking on but unable to hear, they were just having a simple conversation about the weather. “What’s your name?”

“Lisianthus Corkpolter.”

“Lizzy?”

She nodded eagerly.

Cori knew the drudgery of carrying a name that took longer to learn how to spell than she did to learn to walk. “Know anyone in Deephallow, Lizzy?”

She shook her head. “My family’s from Stock. My grandparents moved to Crickhollow some years ago.”

The typically bustling town housing the mouth of the road to Tuckborough had been deserted when they passed through; most likely, that was where everyone had gone, if not south.

“It’s just me and Pa now,” she continued, fidgeting with a string on the skirt of her dress. “Ma passed only a couple years after I was born. Fever.”

“Sorry,” Cori offered, knowing it was nothing that the girl really needed.

“Everyone’s saying you know the dwarves that the army is fighting with,” she asked, abruptly switching the subject. “What are they like?”

Cori chuckled. “Obstinate, grumpy, quick-tempered. But you probably already heard all that, huh?”

She nodded.

“What you didn’t hear was how courageous and passionate and loyal they are. No nobler bunch I’ve ever seen amongst Men, elves, or hobbit, I promise you.”

Lizzy perked up, a glimmer of curiosity in her dark eyes. Cori almost laughed when she caught her reflection in it. The girl probably worried her Pa sick, too, and that made her grin.

When they left Deephallow, only the soldiers remaining, Cori noticed the little golden-haired lass still with them. She had pinned up her hair and tucked it under a bandana, riding her red pony in a pair of trousers and a tunic. Her nose tipped up just a certain way, her jaw clenched firmly, and her back was straight: Pa would definitely be worried now.

Did Cori have to question her? Absolutely not.

And so there were fifty-four hobbits on the road to Tookland.

The pace increased from that which they used to reach Deephallow; in less than a week, they arrived into the ancestral lands of the Took family. The damage had been substantial, though they had already begun to make progress in cleaning up. The large and confusing tunnels that made up the Took smials looked almost completely renewed from the outside, and their depth into the hill likely kept them from complete ruin. Still, the residents were mostly living in temporary wooden houses that they had lifted up at the base of the hill in what looked to be a razed field. There were no graves in sight; either they were hidden off in the woods, or the Tooks truly possessed magic that would keep their kin safe from invading Men. It had already worked against dragon fire.

Basil Took, not a scratch on her freckled tan skin, radiated love as she ran to meet her betrothed and tossed herself into his arms. She was just as Garth had described her: golden hair that shown in the sunlight, merry green eyes, and the swooping figure of a typical hobbit lass, especially in a family as rich as hers. She had a musical laugh that could charm even the most stoic viewer, and it was no wonder it had worked on Cori’s hopelessly romantic baby brother. The mischief Cori could have accomplished if she possessed those feminine wiles; obviously, they went unused on this pure creature, if Garth had managed to snatch her up before anybody else could.

“This is her?” Basil asked as soon as she saw Cori approach, still clinging to Garth’s arm with a precious smile on her face.

Garth grinned at his sister. “When she met everyone else last year, I told her I saved the best for last.”

“Take it from me, brother. Lies are not a good way to start off a relationship.” She only had to blink once before she was suddenly swooped into a soft, yet firm embrace. Garth snickered at her wide eyes. How could this much strength hide in such a tiny body? And Cori thought she was small and sturdy. “The ‘last’ is a little disappointing.”

“No, no.” Basil pulled away, keeping her at arm’s length with a hand on both shoulders. “He’s told me much about you, Cori, and they were some of the most intriguing conversations I’ve ever had. A world traveler? An expert archer? What’s there not to love? And you’re going to be my sister!”

Oh, yes. They were in Tuckborough.

“I like her,” Cori mouthed to Garth, who laughed aloud with the giggling girl tucked into his side.

That night, the Bucklanders held a meeting to discuss their plans with those living in Tookland. Cori could barely get in a word past “rally against the invaders” before she had nearly every hobbit in the room clambering to throw their name into the pot. Not all of them were Tooks either. Then a debate sprang into an argument (entirely routine, said Basil) about who would stay and conduct the repairs to the smials and who would take up arms. At her right side, Garth looked a little aghast. Cori just grinned, standing for a moment to enjoy the entertainment, because this little bunch had nothing on a dwarven courtroom. And just as she had then, she recovered control of the room and reminded them that they were on the same side. Afterward, the families showed surprising organization as they split off into teams. Just like that, the hobbit army grew to almost eighty.

Despite supplies being low, Cori and her troop of leaders were treated to the famed hospitality of Tookland. They were given ale, food (begged pardon for the “tiny” rations), and a beautiful view of the mountains in the distance as the sun set behind them. They were all given cloth tents to crawl into for the night. Cori and Garth had one to share, but as she sat by the campfire outside and watched her brother cuddling with his lass across the flames, she understood that she would want to not only be out of the tent, but as far away from it as possible, once night fell. Maybe she could cuddle with Shadow; she snickered when she thought pathetically “the hairiness would be just about right.”

Her salvation came with Lizzy. The girl came up empty-handed after a search for kin, and Cori felt it her duty to invite her over when she saw her moping back toward camp.

“They came in the night on swift horses,” Basil said, describing the attacks. “They managed to toss some torches into the windows and wrench open the doors before anybody could wake up, but I don’t think they were expecting that many of us to pour out of the smial like that. As soon as we all grabbed our weapons and charged at them, they ran. I don’t think anybody was even hurt.”

Garth chuckled. “Clearly, they weren’t told what to expect from us. It took them a while to get their bearings with us, too.”

“All Ryone had to go on was me twelve years ago,” Cori replied, “unless he’s dealt with hobbits since then. I wasn’t what you would call intimidating back then.”

“And are you supposed to be now?” Garth grinned.

She tossed a bread roll at him.

“So what should we expect from them?” Lizzy asked.

“Not that skittering bunch,” Cori replied. “He’ll be sending his best against the dwarves, and they’ve already succeeded once. It won’t be a simple roe.”

“Guess you’ll be needing all the help you can get,” Basil grinned, lifting the sheathed sword that lay in the grass beside her.

“No,” Garth said.

“No?” That came from all three girls.

“I’ve been training, just like everyone else,” Basil said with a pout, her arms crossed. Her little button nose barely got in the way as she stare down it toward Garth. Cori bit her lip, exchanging an expression with Lizzy, both red with the force of keeping the giggling down.

“Your brother says you’re good with a sword, but we need archers, and you haven’t been using a bow.” Poor boy was on the losing side here.

“You didn’t make the specification during the recruiting meeting. Cori?”

She ignored her brother’s silent plea and shook her head. “We don’t exactly have room to be picky, Garth. Take a lesson from the dwarves. If somebody is willing to fight, it’s considered an insult to bar them from participating. I think she’s capable. And yes, we do need majority archers, but every skill is valuable.”

Garth shook his head, though not from objection. He fought an internal battle against his better judgement and the natural protector in him. Once again, Cori found a relation and pitied him.

“I’ll school her, Garth. It’ll take us a while to get there, the same amount of time everybody had to train before. I’ll whip her into shape, no problem.”

Basil nodded eagerly, sending her silent gratitude toward her before settling large eyes on her betrothed. Of course, Garth was wet clay in her hands and very red when he tossed the bread roll back at Cori for the “aw” that slipped out of her.

“Could I join?” Lizzy asked as soon as they settled down to sleep in her tent. “The lessons, I mean.”

Cori had not had any intentions of forming a class on this mission, but it was probably in everyone’s best interest that they learn how to handle a bow. Odds were that the hobbits would be avoiding face-to-face combat, so long range would be their best bet. “Of course, lass.”

There was one more place Cori wanted to stop before they headed out of the Shire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a guess at where that might be. ;p  
> I just realized that we're actually coming close to the end of this. We've still got a few more chapters to go, but it's getting close.  
> And we passed yet another milestone. Over 200 kudos and 200,000 words. Thanks, dearies! You're the best! <3


	33. Hairy Toes in a Hairy Situation

“Are we where I think we are?” Garth asked, squinting against the blinding sun and sharp glistening of the water from the little river directly in front of them. “This can’t be…”

“It is,” Cori replied, feeling her throat clench painfully at the sight.

For the second time in only a couple of months, she entered Hobbiton, but this visit, she did not recognize it.

“They hit here, too?” Lizzy asked, small in her saddle as she stared at a crumbling barn.

“This would’ve been one of the first places,” Cori said. “They came from the hills directly north of us now. They probably made it here before they hit Buckland.”

“What are we going to do?” Basil said solemnly from her seat behind Garth on his pony, naturally sympathetic eyes staring at the bare fields south of the village, still black in places with ash. “Every field and garden we’ve seen so far has had at least a little piece taken out of it. Most were completely empty. We’re not going to have enough food.”

“No, we’re not.” Cori thought long and agonizingly about this and decided that being blunt and truthful would have to do. The Shire, usually self-sufficient with food and plenty of surplus to spare, may not survive the coming winter. It was a basic war tactic, going for the food sources, but she wondered if the Men actually knew how devastating it would be to this group of people. Probably not; most had likely not known of the existence of hobbits until only a short while ago. If they did, would they have still attacked? Anybody with an ounce of common good would have seen the peaceful, gentle folk that they were and had second thoughts about senselessly assailing them. Which left the two options: they knew nothing and had been fed lies, or they were just that heartless. She would go with the former, if they were following Ryone to begin with.

Plausibly, the hobbits might be able to squeak by on fewer meals than they usually partook in. Adding more meat would encounter a problem with storage, then scarcity once all the animals disappeared for the winter, but they could not afford to toss away perfectly good options. Still, it might be stretching it. “We’re not going to have a lot of things,” Cori replied with the end of the conversation in her tone. These were things they could decide later, when they knew how many of them would be returning from this mission.

The quiet little town she spent some of the most extraordinary days of her life in reeked of destruction and death. It was unfathomable, this place being spoiled by war. But what more evidence did she need than what lay right in front of her?

Such scars would remain on this land for many, many years to come, always a reminder that the days of true, lasting peace were a thing of the distant past, ages before even the Shire was founded. No one could deny that things were not the same anymore, nor would they ever be again.

As they came into the village, the first sight Cori ground her teeth at was the crumbling remains of the Green Dragon tavern. Many a good Shire ale she had there, and a few pleasant memories of evenings spent in the company of jolly acquaintances she had traded with earlier—too sloshed to pay any attention to how different she was—and fuzzy nights in a few of the rooms afterward. Already, repairs were underway, builders buzzing around the place like bees. However, they halted when first noticing the great company of mounted, partially armored and armed hobbits. If they caught on, none of them made any indication, staring as the ponies plodded by.

“We’re helping with repairs while we’re here,” Cori said to the Buckland official riding to her left and behind her. “See that everyone knows.”

“You got it.”

“And we make camp in the field just over the bridge.”

“That’s the Party Tree!” Basil said with obvious relief in her voice. “Oh, gracious, it was spared. I guess it _is_ possible to find good things in all this madness.”

It seemed silly, rejoicing over the survival of a tree when so many homes had been destroyed and lives taken much too soon. But what made a hobbit if they did not value the green life they lived beside as well? As Cori understood it, that tree had been the center of life in Hobbiton for generations. A symbol of the best times. If that was what they needed to keep a chin up, by Yavanna, she would salute the damn tree.

Leaving the army to set up their tents and cook fires in the field, Cori jogged up the path that twisted and turned through the sloping neighborhood that housed the hobbits of Hobbiton. The smials, once vibrantly blending into the bright green grass, now stood out from the rich vegetation that still lined the walkways and gardens, where little faunts used to stumble about as they chased butterflies and grasshoppers. They were dull and lifeless, some just bare holes in the hills they had been built into. A good deal similar to the hobbits that now toiled within and out of them. Whatever good feelings the Party Tree had done to Basil and the rest of the army, they had not reached the residents of this once sleepy little town.

It had been well over a week since the attack, yet there seemed to be fewer repairs done to the smials and buildings than any other place they had been to so far. While the damage remained along the same degree as Buckleberry, the hobbits did not seem eager to throw themselves into rebuilding just yet. Still stunned by the sudden intrusion into their serene paradise here, no doubt. But hardiness was a trait all hobbits shared, no matter where they were from, so the will to survive would kick in soon. Hopefully, the army could spur it into action just a little sooner.

The graves were obvious here, as most of the trees in the area leaned over freshly-turned bare patches with simple stone markers at one end and bouquets of flowers at the other. And there were _a lot_. Cori quickened her pace up the hill, suddenly frantic to reach her destination and make sure the one face she hoped to see was not one of those covered by feet of dirt.

Thankfully, once she reached the top of The Hill, she did not have to look far. Sitting on a bench in front of the missing door to the largest home in Hobbiton was Bilbo Baggins, dressed in ragged clothes and spotted with smudges of dust all over his sweaty cheeks and forehead. In his hand was what she assumed to be a cup of water, and by his side was the familiar grey robes of a wandering wizard that just so happened to be wandering in just the right places. But she did not dwell on much of the details of the friendly scene happening before her.

“Bilbo!” she exclaimed, bypassing what used to be the little gate to his front garden and bounding up the stone steps toward the front of Bag End. With a hefty exhale, she threw her arms around his neck and crushed him to her body. “Are you all right?” She realized, by her quaking voice, that she was shaking.

The hobbit let out an “oof” when she clamped onto him, nearly toppling backwards onto the bench that he had risen from upon first spotting her. “Right as rain,” he replied, hugging her back, though he seemed a little stiff. “A little fire damage, and some stolen artifacts, but nothing a little care won’t mend. What about you, dear? You’ve looked better. I mean, you don’t look yourself, is what I meant.”

She giggled and pulled away, smiling into his open, warm face. It was a breath of fresh air. “In need of another vacation, friend, if you’re taking guests.”

He winced, glancing back toward the scratched paint on his door and the gaping hole in his window. “If you don’t mind the draft.”

“In this heat? You’ve got yourself a deal.” She hugged him again, just because she needed to. Because he was a familiar, welcoming thing. Even as his home lay in shambles, he remained unchanged, sincere and brave. It was not a feeling she expected to find here, but she would cling to it nonetheless because it was exactly what she needed then.

“It looks like you’ll have more than enough entertainment to fill your rooms, dear friend.”

At Gandalf’s chuckling statement, Cori remembered that he was there and jumped over to wrap her arms around his waist with no reservations. There it was again, that glorious feeling, as he soothingly patted her back beneath the curtain of long hair that hung down it today. But she pulled away quickly, smiling up at him. “It’s so good to see you again, Gandalf.”

The gentle touch of his weathered fingers to her chin felt like a salve to a burn. “And you, my dear. But what a talent for survival you have.”

“We’ll see about that.” She turned back to Bilbo, sweetening her grin. “Now, about your home. I may have to ask you a big favor that’ll postpone the hard work you’ve obviously put into it so far. Again.”

He cast a glance around her shoulder, more of a gesture than actually looking at what was there. Clearly, he had a good view of all that happened in the neighborhood from up here. “I may have guessed. But color me intrigued.”

As evening fell, and the inhabitants of Hobbiton stumbled upon the army of eighty or so soldiers tenting in their celebration field, word began to spread of their business there. As it was, many of those who considered themselves influential figures in town were eager to be informed about what would be taking place and why it needed to be brought to Hobbiton of all places. There ended up being five representatives of the local families, including Bilbo as head of the Baggins family. They—along with Cori, Garth, the two Buckland officials Mister Proudtop and Mister Fairfoot, and Gandalf—made a conference that took place in a circle of chairs settled beneath the Party Tree, on the opposite side to the camp. Cori took the initiative, as leader of the group, to explain their business.

“Those within our army are fully committed to the cause of marching against and ridding ourselves of the menace responsible for the invasion,” she said, hoping she could be more concise with her words before her mouth became too dry to form words. Despite the nerves, she still managed to articulate herself just as well as she had to the dwarves in Durmark, and she wondered where, in her years of solitude, she gained the trait of public speaker. “And we’ve decided to extend that to anyone who’s willing to throw in. We could use every able body we can find.”

“No obligation to join,” Garth interrupted. “And none to stay. Those who feel the need can back out at any time.”

Cori somewhat hoped the idea would not be planted. They were scrambling to find soldiers to fight against an army they had no estimation of numbers for. If they had to result to coercion, no matter how morally backwards it may have been, she would reach for the rope.

Four of the hobbits put their heads together and murmured quietly. However, Bilbo lifted his hands, palms outward. “I’m in.”

Cori grinned. She had no doubt that he would jump to it. Knowing of the dwarves’ plight may have encouraged him, but Bilbo Baggins no longer played by the rules, and everyone knew it. He may have had a different name, but his heart was mostly Tookish.

“Have you told them, Cori?” Gandalf asked from his bench. “The soldiers that have pledged already. You haven’t kept anything about the nature of this mission from them, have you?”

She sighed. Annoyingly perceptive wizard. “Nothing. It’s just a matter of if their imaginations can stretch that far. But they’ve been prepared.”

“I just needed to be sure, considering the direction your mind went in just a few moments ago.”

She knew it. All along, she had speculated, but could never confirm. Now she had proof. He could read minds. _Stay out of my head, you old geezer._ “Shouldn’t you be in Ered Luin, trying despite all opposition to prevent a mass suicide?”

One aged and wrinkled brow lifted above a playfully gleaming eye. He mimicked her stance—the hand not wrapped around his staff settled on his hip—and she suddenly felt like she stood before a parent with her hand on the pastry plate. “About that. Now, imagine my surprise and subsequent apprehension when I arrive in Ereven to do just that, expecting a little hobbit to be there to relieve the tension of consulting with dwarves, only for her to be nowhere to be seen with a number of said dwarves asking if _I_ had seen her.”

She gulped, trying to convince herself that she had no reason to feel guilty for that. A whole barrage of other things, sure, but… “I was only doing what I was told.”

He rolled his eyes. “So I heard. However, there were those who would have stood by you nonetheless. The least you could have done was tell them where you were going, as a courtesy from one friend to another who did not approve of what you were ‘told.’ I’m surprised you even bent to the order, knowing you.”

“I was tired, Gandalf. Completely exhausted of all that kerfuffle. I just…needed to get away, and I had no idea where I was going when I set out. All of a sudden, I was home.” Hanging around just to see that empty, sad, longing face would have driven her mad inside that cave.

“Were I there at the time, I would have advised you to stay. Your presence, no matter the political repercussions it would have entailed, would have played a vital role in helping me against that opposition you just mentioned. See, not only did I have to contend with the urge to strike my head against a wall because of the ridiculous ideas I was fed, but I also had to watch those ideas come from the fogged, laden mind of a heartsick friend. It was rather painful to see.”

“I’m not responsible for his impairments,” she barked. “As you probably already know—and if you don’t, you do now—he brought that onto himself.”

“What are you talking about?” Garth asked, but he snapped his mouth shut when Cori held up a hand to him.

“You are responsible, because you are the cause. No one expects _you_ to do anything, because yes, it _is_ out of your hands. It’s something he has to make a decision on for himself. But his burdens, resulting from whatever happened between you two, have caused his judgment to become skewed.”

“That’s none of my concern,” she grumbled back. “It stopped being my concern when I left that city.”

“It is your concern! It will affect the outcome of this war. Frankly, I am doubting your judgment as well. You have done marvelously, dear, putting together this whole operation and keeping it intact, but you and everyone here must know that it could be all for naught. Ryone has gathered an army of at least a thousand soldiers, just like the ones that you fought in Annúminas. The dwarves have only half of that now. You _will not_ defeat him without paying a deathly price.”

Cori swallowed, ears ringing from the silence of the circle. This was what she dreaded, but dared not address in her head for fear of losing her nerve. “What of the elves?”

“The elves of the Grey Havens will not risk open combat with the Men for this reason. There are too few of them that they can spare. They hope, in time, another solution can arise, but right now, the dwarves are bent on taking him on as they are, and it is folly.”

“Men?”

“If Rohan or Gondor have been convinced of the severity of the situation, they will not arrive for some time, and we can only guess what will happen in the meanwhile. The Rangers will be occupied keeping the crippled Shire borders locked up tight and taking on the orcs still prowling around. Many have been recalled further north to help keep the borders of Imlaris; there will be nothing from the Rangers or Lord Elrond.”

She could feel all the hope she had built within herself leaving in a rush. “And what do _you_ say?”

He shrugged. “Wait. Gather formidable forces that will take out the rogues without much further bloodshed from those who do not deserve it. Otherwise, you are walking into yet another trap, and this time with ample warning about what you’ll face. But Thorin is adamant about going after him now. He alluded to marching on Ryone’s hideout in the northern Hills of Evendim within a fortnight from today.”

Cori tilted her chin up, puffing out her chest a little. “If that’s his decision, then we can’t leave them to their fate. We have to give them every advantage we possibly can. Thorin values your counsel, but if you couldn’t convince him, then his way will be done. You know that. The only thing we can do is even the score a little, and I’ve got almost eighty hobbits out there who are willing to go to their deaths in defense of their home. Ask any of them. And we’re going to do it.” She shook her head, staring straight into his eyes. “I can’t leave him, Gandalf. I just can’t.”

The wizard sighed with resignation, yet a little fond smile crept onto his face. “That old fool knows not what he’s lost,” he mumbled before turning to the rest of the group. “Only Bilbo so far has given his word. What say the others?”

All looking for a quick, respectable exit from this meeting, obviously. Cori had never seen a more scared bunch of mice in her life, and she wondered if it was appropriate at the moment to ask them to untwist their knickers and open their eyes to what was around them. Instead, she decided to use tact and be a little more persuasive. “The dwarves are your only defense right now. Once the Men get through them, odds are, they’ll come back. Sitting here, ignoring the problem, will only make things worse.”

“My dear,” Gandalf warned.

“Die here or die there,” she finally said, getting her point across while also giving the wizard what he wanted. “Or live there, then live here. Those are your choices, and I wouldn’t dally making your decision. The dwarves are quite an impatient bunch, and they’ve already been waiting a long time.”

While she ignored the blazing blue eyes narrowed on her with plenty of promise for a lecture later on, she watched the emotions play across the hobbits’ faces. A grin slithered up her cheeks when she realized that her words had made an impact. They were still scared, but there was understanding and acceptance in their eyes. Finally, the one sitting next to Bilbo gave him one look before returning his gaze to her and nodding. “I’m in.”

“As am I,” the hobbit on the far opposite end echoed, and soon, the other two followed with firm nods.

“It may take some convincing,” Bilbo said, “but we’ll gather as many volunteers as we can. Most of those who took up swordplay lessons will likely be eager to put their new skills to the test.”

With the approval of everyone present, Cori decided to move onto the next phase of their meeting: actually planning the attack. “Were they also doing archery along with the swords?”

Bilbo nodded. “I can’t rightly say they were adept with either, but from my own observations, there was progress.”

“All we really need is for them to know how to point and shoot. If the hobbits go to battle, they will be of little use in hand-to-hand combat. Trust me, I’ve gone against these Men in this way, and they’re a trifle tricky for even the dwarves. The hobbits will provide long-range coverage. That is, if we’re in an area that allows for it.” If they could collaborate with the dwarves beforehand, they could try to force the battle into an open field surrounded by plenty of cover for the hobbits to hide in. Finding something of the sort should not be a problem in the Hills, but they were also assuming that everything would fall in their favor.

“But there’s the problem,” Garth interrupted, hopping up from his seat. “You said the dwarves were completely outnumbered. By almost twice their number, I believe? If these Men are so proficient at war as you say they are, they’ll probably have a plan of attack that uses that against them. Without a sufficient force on the field, they could be overwhelmed and slaughtered within minutes. We might win the day, but the casualties will be large.”

Cori cocked a brow. “Since when did you become an expert battle strategist?”

He shrugged with a lopsided grin. “Tomes in the Brandy Hall collections. I started reading after your first visit in February. The Bucklanders learned a lot from the Battle of Greenfields. And, when you really think about it, it’s just common sense.”

“So what do you suggest? Dwarves don’t actually grow out of the ground like they’re rumored to, so it’s not like more can just magically appear.” Then she stopped, wide eyes sitting on the ground unfocused, because she may have just found the perfect solution.

“What is it, Cori?” Bilbo urged.

“Overton,” she whispered. Then she looked to Gandalf. “Thorin and I were accosted in a town called Overton, just along the banks of the Lune. We believe it’s made up entirely of Ryone’s followers; I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a trap specifically set to lure dwarves in. Anyway, Thorin was captured and kept in their dungeons for a night. He said he wasn’t alone while he was down there. Possibly dozens of dwarves are still sitting below that city right now, festering unbelievable anger. They weren’t in great shape, from what he said, but what are dwarves if not hardy in sticky binds?”

His brow hiked up. “Are you truly suggesting what I think you are?”

“Those dwarves have been in there for Valar knows how long. They will want to have vengeance above all others, if they’re able, and that’s pretty much guaranteed if they’re alive and kicking.”

“Don’t you think Thorin would’ve already gone in there and set them free by now?” Bilbo asked.

“Dwarves would never be able to sneak in there. They’re just waiting for unsuspecting dwarves to walk in. And come on, you and I both know they wake the dead wherever they walk in those giant boots.”

“But you think _we_ can get in?” Garth gestured to the surrounding attendees.

“I did. I snuck in there and got out without issue.” She shrugged at Gandalf. “Even managed to snatch Orcrist where it had been confiscated from Thorin. Bunch of dolts keeping an eye on it anyway.”

“This is a bigger matter to handle than a sword. I have full confidence that you and whoever you take with you will be able to slip inside with little issue, but how do you propose you’ll get the dwarves out?”

“Nothing but townsfolk and overzealous second-rate guardsmen there. Even deprived of food and proper care, the dwarves will outmatch them by leagues. Five of us were able to take out who I assumed to be their best. And let’s count on most of the warriors being with Ryone’s army, shall we? He’s not going to spare a skilled man after our last encounter ended in a draw.”

Gandalf, admirably, seemed to be searching within his vast mind for an alternative. All the hobbits looked to him, as if counting on his word as if it was the final say (ironic, after all the times they disapproved of him hanging around). Cori cared little for what he said. She had the support of the hobbits now, so there was nothing else she needed. They would be setting out for Overton in the morning; all that needed to be decided was if Gandalf would be joining them.

“You know I’ve won,” she smirked.

He rolled his eyes, still putting on a smile. “You’d find a way, even if you were bound and locked in a room.” His body deflated with his sigh of defeat. “You’ll have to leave immediately. I’ll ride north ahead of you and try to stall the dwarves as long as possible. How successful I’ll be, obviously, depends on the phase of the moon and temperature of the ground, so be quick in case they aren’t agreeable.”

“They won’t be. I’ll plan for the worst.” She turned back to the hobbits. “Ryone’s men are specifically trained to perfection. I don’t know what a few arrows and letter openers are going to do against them, but it’s what we’ve been given, and I’m not one to be picky.”

Bilbo cleared his throat and adjusted his jacket, ignoring her smirk with a sniff. “Then it’s a good think you have a professional burglar coming with you.”

She giggled. “Indeed it is, friend.”

                *************************

Cori remembered traveling with her family to other parts of Buckland and the Shire when she was a little faunt. Just a few walking trips to visit distant relatives that were afflicted with an ailment or a nice holiday away from the rut of life. Traveling hobbits were…quite fussy, she began to recall as her army set out north from Hobbiton with thirty more soldiers. They topped at a grand total of one hundred and nine participants, and that was a lot of voiced complaints about the heat or a rock sticking into their back at night.

As cranky as they might have been, they did not allow their poor situation to bog them down. Cori saw a comradery that she had seldom seen elsewhere. Just as she had promised to train Basil and Lizzy with a bow, the hobbits with the more advanced skills volunteered to train those that were lacking. When they set up camp and had their evening rations, they immediately jumped into target practice. She watched many of them actually hit their marks; most of the time, it was just a lucky draw, but it slowly became more and more frequent as each session ended on a higher note than the last. It was good enough to shoot into a crowd of soldiers blindly and still hit something, and that was what they needed.

But they drew nearer to the Lune every day, and yet, their combat skills never seemed to progress at the same rate. It was disconcerting. Cori waited for those around her to climb into their bedrolls before she sat and stared into the fire, dropping her mask. She knew her face reflected the anxious flutter in her stomach, and she could not allow any of them to see it. She knew their morale depended on her confidence, but it was a little more difficult to control when she could feel that slipping.

_I don’t envy you, love. I really don’t._

That was the only time she ever let her guard down, and sometimes enough to let a few tears squeak by because she longed for the company she would have at exactly this time of night, with a fire crackling and flickering against the surrounding trees. There would be time later to grieve the absence of that easy companionship that had meant everything to her later. When dawn came, she had to be a leader, or at least put up the pretense that she was one.

Before long, they crossed the Lune at a shallow ford and arrived at Overton.

“It doesn’t seem too bad,” Bilbo commented as he crouched in the bushes beside Cori. “Quite innocent, actually.”

“You saw Laketown. That place could make anywhere look as grand as Rivendell.”

He shrugged. “True. But the corruption in Laketown was out in the open, what with the poor people and the rotting houses. This looks like an ordinary town.”

“That’s what Thorin and I thought when we first walked in there. We buy goods from their market and they pay us back by almost murdering us. It’s all a mask. Don’t want any potential customers who may be dwarf sympathizers to walk out of here without buying anything. Bad for business. Most corruption is kept hush-hush.”

“So do you have a plan?” asked Garth, peering over Cori’s shoulder toward the guarded gate with a mildly nauseated and poorly suppressed frown.

“Well, _I’ve_ never actually busted anyone out of prison.” She eyed Bilbo, giving him a wink when he glared.

“I’m worried about how much you know about that quest.”

“Too much. Trust me.”

She allowed Bilbo to choose who he thought was suitable to the task of slipping inside the city unnoticed, but would also be of use in freeing the dwarves, as he along with the Buckland officials had taken charge of seeing to the hobbits’ training. He brought ten before her, the ones he said had been exceptional and were good at sneaking pies from windows and the like. Lizzy was amongst them, and considering how young she was, it did not escape Cori that she probably nagged Bilbo into letting her come. In fact, all of them seemed to have just grown into their feet, but then again, so had Cori. She thought of the guilt that would swamp her if she let any of these lads and lasses get pinched and allowed that to fuel her concentration so she could get everyone in and out without incident.

“I can get us to the dungeon,” she said over her shoulder to her brother. “If their soldiers are with Ryone’s army, once we get past the first line of defense—what we’re looking at right now—it shouldn’t be a problem. You have to do exactly as I do, though, or we’re going to get caught. I’m sure someone would remember me, and not at all fondly, so we _really_ don’t want to get caught. Follow?”

He nodded, throat bobbing.

“We’re right behind you,” Bilbo whispered, nodding to her with a little hint if apprehension.

Cori took his vote of confidence and ran with it, literally. Out of the bushes she leapt and sprinted toward the crack in the wall she had used the first time. Sticking her head in, she checked both ways down the small alley before slipping inside and crouching down at the hole. When she made sure the guards at the gate were occupied, she signaled for the next ones. Two at a time, the rest of the twelve remaining hobbits scampered across the open space with delicate steps. Not even a clump of dirt was disturbed. Without a mishap, the entire party made it into the city. Cori led them on the route she knew had been a straight shot: over the half-subterranean home and onto the rooftops.

“Does a giant hobbit live here?” Lizzy asked, her voice breathy with awe. Assumedly, this was her first time in a city of Men.

Cori chuckled. “Bullroarer’s summer home.”

Bilbo scoffed. “Why would he _ever_ have come to this dreadful place for a holiday?”

The hobbits retraced Cori’s original steps with ease. The roofs were clear all the way to the lord’s house. Only one thing was different.

Cori stopped behind a wall and cursed under her breath. “There weren’t guards on the balcony the last time.” Two soldiers paced lazily in front of the open second-story windows, occasionally taking a drink from their flasks. Maybe these humans could actually learn a thing or two after all.

“Hold on,” one lad said with a hand on her shoulder. He assessed the situation with a determined set of his eyes, leaving no room for any of the apprehension from earlier. “Wait until they’re next to each other, then shoot an arrow between them. Stay out of sight.” With a gesture to two companions, all three hopped over the peak of the roof’s slope to the other side. A moment passed , and once neither guard was looking in that direction, the hobbits jumped from their perch to the balcony, dangling off the side just out of sight.

Cori’s mind scrambled to keep up. She nocked an arrow and held it until the guards passed each other. With only an inch between them, she buried the shaft into the side of the building. Both jumped and called out in surprise, frantically looking in her direction. The three hobbits took the moment of distraction and jumped onto the balcony, racing toward the guards on swift, light feet. Using the pommels of their swords and the limbs of their bows, they leapt up and knocked the guards in the head, putting them out in just one blow.

Cori felt her chin hit the floor.

“Told you they were good,” Bilbo mumbled to her. Waving a hand to the rest of the group, he led them across the roof.

Blinking rapidly, Cori stowed that little show in the back of her head to ponder on and laugh at later, jumping onto the balcony with the rest of them. “Good work, lads,” she whispered, vaulting through the window and landing with a thump on the floor. She winced. _Forgot the boots._ But just as last time, the hallway seemed deserted. As if that would matter now, considering the company she was keeping.

“We have to go down a flight of stairs to our left here,” she announced to the group as quietly as possible. “The door to the dungeon is underneath the staircase. I don’t know what we’ll find down there, but be ready for anything.”

With affirmative nods from them all, Cori whirled around and jogged down the corridor, listening for any approaching footsteps. Of course, at the bottom of the stairs were two more armed guards. Cori had but to look over her shoulder for another pair of hobbits to scurry down the stairs, hop onto the railing, and most violently knock the men in the side of the head. Silence followed their muffled thuds on the wood floor.

The words she insisted on repeating all the time passed through her head. Hobbits got the job done when they needed to; it was just a matter of giving them the right motivation. Dwalin would bust a rib if she ever told him about this.

Stepping over the prone soldiers, the group hurried into the door leading to the armory and dungeons. Once down the dimly-lit stone steps, Cori peered into the room where she found Orcrist, noting with satisfaction that many swords still sat about unguarded.

“We need to locate the jailer,” Bilbo whispered to her. “Nothing can be done until we have the keys.”

The passageway became darker the further they moved from the staircase. Only a few torches flickered eerily against the damp stone walls. Nothing that dwarves would find daunting, but the hobbits watched the shadows with unease. As they turned a corner at the end of the first long stretch, they found the cells. A number of them pressed close to each other, likely with very little room inside. Water dripped from somewhere, the rhythmic splashing an irritant to Cori’s frayed, tired nerves. This was where Thorin sat for a night; she wanted out after only ten seconds.

Along the wall opposite the bars, a soldier paced with a languid gait. Each slow step caused a rattling somewhere on his person. He had the keys. This was _way_ too easy. Cori turned to the hobbits and pressed a finger to her lips. Exchanging a quick nod with Bilbo, they raced around the corner and up to the soldier’s back. Lizzy jumped onto one of the taller hobbit’s shoulders and lunged for the guard’s head. She wrapped one arm around his neck, the other pressing a hand over his mouth. He let out a loud grunt, bending backwards. His arms flailed around, grasping for the leech on his back, but Lizzy held strong through the bashing. A few other hobbits held the man by the waist and legs and pulled him down further until he dropped to his knees. Cori snatched the key ring dangling from the front of his belt and took off down the line toward the first cell.

Inside were three dwarves scrunched together near the back wall. Their thick hair and beards were loose and unkempt, and they were splotched with dirt and bruises. Their eyes narrowed on her when she unlocked the cell and threw the gate open. They made no attempt to get up, and she almost screamed. _As dense as their damn stone, apparently._ “You are more than welcome to stay in here, if that’s what you want,” she hissed, fists on her hips. “I’ll just leave the door open, shall I?”

They exchanged looks, weary indecision on all three of them. Cori sighed. There was no time for this.

Bolting to the next cell, she pushed the key into the slot. The moment it clicked, however, a shout echoed down the hall, and she jerked her head down that way. A slew of new guards poured in from around the corner, armed with broad swords. The hobbits managed to squeeze the first one into unconsciousness, but they huddled together at the sight of their new enemy, shaking hands brandishing their weapons. There were only six guards, but it was an unfair fight for certain.

A large, meaty hand fell hard onto Cori’s shoulders, and she startled. “We have them,” one of the dwarves said, rushing forward with his companions to face the newcomers. “Free the rest!”

_By your leave._ She wasted no time, jumping to the next one and pushing the barred door open. “Help them!” she called to the hobbits. “Be careful!”

Once Bilbo and Garth led the hobbits in overwhelming the guards, the tide turned in favor of the weak dwarves. Still, they were just fine on their own. Cori had been worried they may not actually be in any shape to fight, but their reserves were endless. They moved as if their clothes did not hang from their bodies like sheets on a line. She wanted to stop and gawk for a moment, because how had she spent most of her life overlooking these incredible beings because they got a bit snappy at strangers?

Cori scampered down the line, freeing one to three dwarves at a time from each cell. When she reached the commotion, the guards had been dealt with. She desperately wanted to laugh at the expressions exchanged between the hobbits and the dwarves. They obviously had no idea what to do with each other. Instead of celebrating with the victorious group, Cori looked to the far end of the corridor. A head peaked around the corner for merely a moment, rushing back behind it when she reached for her bow and an arrow. _Fiddlesticks._

“We’ve got trouble,” she called over the louds bellows, garnering the attention of all. She pointed to the dwarves, who had gathered together in the middle of the aisle. “The armory is just down the way. Keep watch on the entrance until I can get everyone out.”

The dwarves looked ready to refute her assumption of command, bristling like cats, but one with brown hair from the first cell barked something in Khuzdul. There were grunts, but they complied, rushing back the way they had come. The dwarf gave her a nod before following his kin. She had a friend now, it would seem.

The cells continued on for quite some time, and the going was slow with just one key. But with each passing chamber, her heart soared. The morale of the dwarves had been boosted impossibly high despite their haggard state. They were ready to fight. With proper food for a few days, these rock-solid warriors would be ready to go to war.

The problem would be finding that food.

With all the dwarves freed, their numbers climbed by one hundred and fifty. As Cori moved through the mob toward the dungeon entrance, the hobbits close behind her, she could hear shouting and clanging from up ahead. Judging by the laughter of their bearded comrades, she had nothing to worry about. Up the stairs she went until she reached the open door. The first dwarves she had freed stood over the bodies of five soldiers, blood glimmering on their swords and axes. “How are you all faring?”

“Been better, lass,” a black-haired dwarf commented. “What’s your next plan?”

“Provisions,” she replied, jumping at a sound somewhere nearby. They needed to hurry. “We don’t have enough supplies for the journey.”

“Market,” suggested a fiery dwarrowdam with a matching beard and mane. “Way I see it, they owe us a piece of bread or three.”

Cori halted there. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she recalled something she had considered about the Men of this town. Did they truly believe in Ryone’s cause, or had they been fed lies? She wanted to know if she was about to condone stealing from innocent people. But then again, there were adults out there with functional minds. If they saw nothing wrong with keeping a dungeon full of undeserving prisoners, they were far from innocent. There was no question about the dwarves, however. They really needed the food. “Fine.”

The dwarves shared a scheming look before rushing around the corner and toward the front door of the house. Cori blinked in surprise.

“What are they doing?” Bilbo asked anxiously, though the hint of a smirk quivered on his lips.

She shrugged helplessly. “What dwarves do best.”

It was a great shock to the guards and townsfolk standing nearby, a mob of dwarves who they assumed to be several feet below the ground ambling out of the lord’s house as if they were just leaving a meeting in the hall. But there was no spectacular shout from the former prisoners as they poured out of the door and into the streets. They did not make an effort to draw attention to themselves. When a few soldiers standing nearby rushed them, however, those in their sights just battered them off, expertly relieving them of their weapons and throwing their stunned or unconscious bodies to the side. They continued to walk without hindrance, the hobbits trailing behind them.

As soon as the dwarves entered the market, they began to pick up whatever lay on display stalls: bread, fruit, clothing. The people murmured and protested weakly, but one disgruntled look in their direction, and their mouths fell shut. If they were smart, they would take their penance with dignity, and maybe give some indication that they were still able to feel sympathy. Their faces showed their guilt; they were not ignorant bystanders under the rotten influence of crooked logic. They knew exactly what had been going on.

This was justice, Cori thought, and she grinned as she watched it unfold.

When they had everything they could carry, they turned back to the gate and started out. Some of the citizens began to rush them as their backs were turned, but the guards kept them away. For their own safety. The dwarves were _pissed_. The Men looked on as the prisoners peacefully left the town, their hobbit rescuers in toe and happily sporting fuller sacks of their own.

Cori knew, as she looked back through the gates after making sure the last hobbit exited, that the only thing that saved those townsfolk from the wrath they deserved was the children looking on through their parents’ legs. The dwarves knew innocence when they saw it, and there would be no judgment passed onto those who had not done them wrong. A nobler bunch she had never known.

Funnily enough, the dwarves followed the hobbits as they continued down the road to reunite with the rest of their army waiting in the trees. Cori would have expected them to demand an explanation immediately, not trail after them as if they had no idea what to do with their new freedom, but she was glad she did not have to chase them down. As the massive group marched down the road, the brown-haired dwarf fell in beside her. “I don’t question kindness when it’s handed to me,” he explained, tying back his long, unruly hair in a quick braid. “But then I’m not usually handed kindness. So I’ll give you my thanks now, on behalf of the rest of the blokes.”

She nodded. “You’re very welcome.”

“You stole away with us for a reason, and seeing as we now owe you our lives, I’m obligated to ask what it is you need.”

“You didn’t deserve to be down there in the first place,” she replied. “I know that, so just giving you freedom is a valid enough excuse to sneak you out. But you’re right. We need your help. King Thorin Oakenshield is mounting an offensive on Ryone, the Man responsible for the attacks in the Blue Mountains and the one that ordered you to be locked up. But our side is severely outnumbered and out-skilled by a long shot.”

He chuckled, voice raspy, and he accepted her skin with a nod of thanks. “So we’re the bulk, huh?”

“Precisely.”

“King Thorin sent halflings to bust us out?”

“He doesn’t know about us, or that we’re doing this.” They stopped just as they came up on the army. The hobbits leapt to their feet and stared in awe at the massive mob of dwarves trailing behind their leaders. Cori gestured to them. “The Shire was attacked as well, and this is our response to it. See why we need you?”

He exchanged grins with her and nodded. “Yeah, I think I do.”

“What’s your name?”

“Bern, son of Breen.” He extended a bow to her. “At your service, Miss Hobbit.”

“Cori Houndberry. And I’ll be glad for your service, Mister Bern.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the title. XD I had to.
> 
> WHAT?! A chapter the day after the last one?!? No, you're not seeing things. I pretty much had the next one written up already, so just some minor changes and voila! Ready to go! That one should be up quickly, though I won't promise as quickly as this one even though I'll try my best to make it happen. I know everyone's anxious to see the dwarves, and so am I. I miss them a lot. XD But speeding toward them means speeding toward the end, and I don't know if I'm ready for that.
> 
> But is it the end?


	34. Here I Am

_You don’t see that every day,_ Cori thought, twisting around in her saddle to take in the army following behind her. Hobbits and dwarves walked alongside each other, some conversing like old friends. A ragtag group of refugees turned soldiers.

After centuries upon centuries of fighting against misunderstandings and prejudices, the dwarves rose up to meet their adversaries once again. Five days proved to be just enough time to boost their recovery, as if they ever needed it to begin with. Food and water at regular intervals returned color to their faces and energy to their muscles. The marks left on their bodies were nothing more than nuisances. Despite all they had endured, they worked up the spirits to comb and braid their hair and beards. Freshened even to the point of enthusiastic singing, they painted a new picture of what had left Overton. With swords and axes in hand, they looked prepared and eager to fight for the security of their freedom.

“You all right, lass?”

Cori shifted forward again, catching the dark eyes of the young dwarf marching beside Shadow. Bern, son of Breen, had become her unofficial lieutenant as they traveled east into the Hills of Evendim. He had a natural tendency to take charge, becoming the chief inciter for the dwarf half of their army and rousing their morale and tempers when needed. He had taken upon himself the task of organizing the dwarves by their skills and weapons, which would provide for the most efficient blow to Ryone’s army. After all, who was this proud race that would blindly follow a tiny hobbit girl into battle? They were not stupid; she completely understood their reluctance to trust anyone at the moment, so she let Bern communicate for her. He was all too eager to do the deed, and she honestly could not have picked anyone better. “I’m fine, Bern. Just tired.”

“You’ve taken a pretty harsh blow, haven’t you?” His calm face was sympathetic. “All that moping around at the campfires, looking off into the distance like you’re expecting someone to jump out of the bushes at you.”

“All your doing, Master Bern. You and your kind. I never wanted anything to do with you lot in the first place, but here I am.” _Preparing to lay down my life for you all._ She reached own and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad to have you here.”

He shrugged, reaching up to give her wrist a gentle pat. “I don’t see any worthier cause to be shoving myself into at the moment.”

“What made you think my cause was worthy?”

“And not some scheme? Have you seen yourself lately, lass? It’s plain for all that you got something haunting you behind those pretty blues of yours. No one can fake that. You ain’t got a malicious bone in your body.”

Complete strangers could see that? She really needed to work on her battle face. But Bern had taken a keen interest in her since they crossed back over the Lune. Apparently quite familiar with hobbits through trading, he admitted he had never seen one dressed like her—wearing boots of all things during the summer—nor would he have ever guessed that she hunted and sold furs for a living. He knew a hobbit that sought adventure was an abnormality, and so that clearly piqued his curiosity. But he did not push into her personal business, allowing her to brush off some of the questions he asked with a flawless recovery. She had really grown to like him. “That’s kind of you. I’ll take your words to heart.”

“Don’t see why you shouldn’t.” His smile was jolly, full of youthful vigor. He was excited for the battle ahead, just as any young warrior was. Yet his enthusiasm remained steady and reined-in; he had been around, seen things, and he knew when to simmer down. Cori let him have his fun, but she chose not to share in it. This battle needed to be over and done quickly, for all she had a say. “Do you have a plan, Miss Hobbit?”

“I don’t know what we’ll find. If we’re lucky, we’ll catch King Thorin before any fighting begins, and you’ll be his to command from there.”

“And what about you all?”

“The hobbits will be back-up. Long range, if we’re able. I’m going to try to avoid putting them in hand-to-hand situations. Some of them have only had a few weeks’ training. But we’ll stay out of the way.”

“I will make sure he knows what you did.”

“Thanks, but it’s probably best that he never finds out I’m there, if it can be helped.”

His bushy brows furrowed. “Why is that? You’ve met him? Surely he couldn’t think too badly of you for giving him an extra nearly three hundred soldiers.”

“No, but it certainly wouldn’t help matters much.” Thorin would be furious that she deliberately went against the binding words she had signed her name to, especially after hearing them spoken aloud. If she wanted to speak with him, she would wait for the euphoria of victory to quell his battle lust for a bit before poking the bear.

“Cori?” Bilbo’s concerned voice popped in from her other side, and she shifted her gaze to see him riding his pony up next to Shadow. By the look on his face, he had heard her. “I wasn’t going to pry, because frankly it’s none of my business, but after what you and Gandalf talked about in Hobbiton, you’ve got me a little worried. Did something happen?”

She took in a rattling breath. She hoped she would never have to _say_ it again, after Margow pulled it out of her with that soft motherly tone she had for as long as Cori could remember. Maybe openness of their relationship, while it lasted, had not been a good step. “Yeah, it did. It’s over.”

Bilbo blinked rapidly, peering between his pony’s ears with deep concentration. Undoubtedly, he was searching through his memory for something from their visit to Bag End that would explain how things could have suddenly dipped so low. He would find nothing. What he had witnessed had been their peak, and it was perfection. Shame on her for reposing from their misfortune in his home, thinking that all the ways their lovely engagement could have ended would not come to light so quickly. She overestimated her ability to keep control of the situation.

She was never supposed to be _happy._ Content, maybe, with her trading and her growing family to roost with every now and then. Happiness, however, was a luxury she could not find in this life. But at least now she had the chance to make sure someone else could find it.

“What’s that?” Bilbo mused quietly, staring off toward the peaks to their left rising into the sky. Cori glared that way, trying to find what was so interesting.

“You’re seeing things, laddie,” Bern said, hand shading his eyes.

“Nope, there it is.” He pointed toward a hill rising only a short distance away and the undulating figure bearing toward them from behind it. Cori had a half second to recognize it was a dwarf before the rider came up on them, pulling her puffing pony to a halt in front of them.

“I’m here on behalf of King Thorin, with a message from the wizard Gandalf.” Her eyes locked onto Cori and her brow folded inward. “He did not mention _you_ were the one leading the army.”

Gandalf remained ever wise, it seemed.

“What news do you bring, my lady?” Bern asked impatiently, standing firmly next to the hobbit and her grey pony with his arms crossed.

“The Men have come down from the north. They have gathered south of the mouth of the Norbourn and have met us in a field of battle. Neither side had made a move when I left.”

“That’s just outside of Oatbarton,” Garth said.

“How far out are we?” Cori asked.

“I have been riding at speed for an hour,” the dwarf replied. “I was sent to plea for the Rangers to lend a hand. The Men’s numbers are too great.”

Thorin consented to asking for help. Things were not good at all. Cori twisted around, looking at the large mob halted behind her. There were not enough ponies for them all, even if the hobbits and dwarves doubled up. “Tell him we’re coming, my lady,” she said, turning back to the dwarf. “We won’t be swift, but we’ll get there.”

She nodded, jerking her mount around and galloping off toward the east.

Cori felt her pulse speed up. She had not anticipated fighting for another couple of days. The dwarves were ready, and so were the hobbits, as well as they could be. But she suddenly felt the need to balk. To slow down and contemplate what she was doing just a little bit more. But there was no time to slow down. She could not think.

“Hey!” A hand touched her arm, and she looked down to find Bern with his meaty fingers wrapped around her wrist. “No sleeping just yet. We’ve got work to do.”

She forced a breath into her lungs and nodded. _Right._ “Let’s go.” Slipping her boot from her stirrup, she gestured for him to climb up behind her. He did so with a grin, patting Shadow on the rump. “Your voice carries better than mine. Make the call.”

At Bern’s rousing, the army sped into action. The dwarves on foot consented to jogging, which left Cori desperately hoping they would not reverse the recovery they had made over the last week. They seemed comfortable in that pace for a good hour, showing off their stamina despite it all. But, eventually, Cori called for them to stop. If they were going to fight today, they would need to be fresh as soon as they reached the battlefield. So for another two hours, their walk was speedy yet still leaving them impatiently frustrated. Finally, as noon approached, they came to a gradual slope partly bare and partly covered in evergreens and predominantly hickories. Cori’s ears twitched attentively when something echoed against the trees. “What’s that?”

“They are preparing for battle,” Bern said from behind her, reaching for the ax strapped to his back.

Echoing over the ridge above them was a Khuzdul battle cry, the inflaming call of the children of Aulë that could strike down the most steadfast warrior with crippling trepidation. They would not give away the position of their camp unless they were already discovered. The lady dwarf had been right; they were about to fight.

Hissing a curse, Cori dug her heels into Shadow’s sides and galloped the rest of the way up the hill. A few hoof beats followed closely. A numbness constricted her heart as they neared the top. There was no telling if this was the beginning of the battle or a final stand after losing the majority of their army. She feared what lay on the other side.

The clearing at the crest afforded a view of the nearly flat meadow three hundred feet down the steep cliff just below Shadow’s hooves. The midday sun bore down on the two armies standing nearly a quarter mile from each other. On the right, the dwarves huddled together, the various assortment of armor a cacophony of their usual uniformity. But they were no less a menacing sight. Axes and swords brandished high, glimmering in the hot rays from above. Cori scoured for familiar faces. The distance was too great to see detail, but she thought she caught sight of a bright golden head somewhere near the front. The others would not be too far away. She tried not to let the worry creep in.

Spoke too soon. Her eyes drifted to the left side of the field. “Oh, no,” she breathed, feeling the air rush from her chest. The black mass of Ryone’s cloaked soldiers nearly filled the field from one side to the other. Together, they had to make up at least a thousand strong, severely and visibly overwhelming their enemy.

Ryone was not there.

“No wonder there were so few guards in that town with all of us still there,” Bern growled in her ear, fist clenched around the handle of his ax as he took it all in. “Why would so many people join up with this bloke?”

“Incentives appeal to the greedy.”

“I hope you’ve got a plan for this,” Bilbo piped in, apprehension quaking in his voice. Similar dismay began to build among the hobbits behind them; there was regret in the murmuring and rising tension.

She did not, actually. She had fully intended to hand these dwarves over to Thorin and stay wherever the archers were needed most. He was vastly more equipped for this than she would ever be. But here she was, as much of a leader as they had at the moment. If she backed out now, she would lose all credibility, and probably the respect of the hobbits, too. She tried her best to keep her face even, but her heart thudded wildly, stuffing her ears with cotton. All her thoughts were slowly slipping into a void, jumbling up into an incoherent mess. She had no idea what to do.

“ _Cori_.” She nearly jumped out of her skin, body tensed against the pressure laid over the hand on her thigh. That had been _his_ voice. He could not have been…She glanced to her left, meeting the hazel gaze of Bilbo Baggins astride his pony. It was not _him_. He was on the battlefield, about to face down death with the rest of his kin. That was also where the rest of her dwarves were, ready to follow him to the end. She had their only hope waiting behind her.

Turning back to her followers, she glanced between faces, gauging their thoughts. The dwarves chomped at the bit, unfazed by the sight of the soldiers down below and entirely fervent to start an attack. Dwarves were hardy, unbreakable fighters, but they worked best as one large unit. They would need to be united with Thorin’s army. Then she turned to the hobbits. The poor creatures shifted uncomfortably in their saddles, trying despite their dread to peer down at the opposition. She got what she needed. “The hobbits need to give their ponies to the dwarves.”

Bilbo nodded unquestioningly, moving off to give the order.

She turned a little, addressing Bern. “The dwarves have to get onto the battlefield fast, before any of Ryone’s soldiers can surround us. We need to engage before he has a chance to come up with a plan to account for our addition.” Her thoughts whirled, trying to think as far ahead as she could. But with such a disadvantage as they had, now was not the time for wishful thinking and optimism. She needed realistic, but no outcomes resulting in their favor seemed to fall into that category. This was going to be a disaster.

“They haven’t left themselves a very clear escape.” Bern pointed to the tail end of their enemy, which was pressed up against the forest leading up and out of the valley. “Cocky move. Not anticipating needing one. We could pin them against the valley slope and the trees there with a double flanking maneuver. One half of the army charges first, then the other one moves around to the side, and we gradually hug them in tight. We lay them out faster than they can slink back.”

Cori turned her gaze to the cliff they stood on. There were trees dotted along it, but for several yards, much of the edge they stood on was bare. They had a perfect view of the battle. “And the hobbits close up the backside.”

He patted her shoulder. “There you go. We’ll try to push them closer to you so they don’t move out of range.”

“Make sure the dwarves know not to mingle with the Men. Keep the border around the army, but give us plenty of room. We have only had trajectory training for a few days.”

He chuckled, grunting as he slid off Shadow’s back. “You got it. Won’t let you down, Miss Houndberry.”

She grinned and watched him join his people, then jumped down as well and approached Bilbo. “I may need him for something,” she said, gesturing to her pony; as much as it was true, she was reluctant to send him out there with the rest. “We need to line the hobbits up along the edge of the cliff, but tell them to stay crouched. We have surprise on our side, and we need to use it.”

He nodded once, looking less like a Baggins by the second. Merely a sliver of the meek, cautious hobbit she met on his journey to the Lonely Mountain two years ago showed through the apprehension on his face. What an extraordinary change. “Yes, ma’am.”

Cori stared at the dwarves, sitting on their ponies and waiting zealously to carry out their next orders, and the smile that crept onto her face felt almost hysterical. This was mad. They hardly had the means to broach a threat as a cavalry, with their short swords and petite mounts, and the Men could cut them down at the neck. But damn it all, if they did not have the heart and the might to paint a terrifying picture. Bern, sitting astride a white pony, lacked all the anxiety she felt, grinning almost manically. He had an unhealthy amount of faith in this endeavor that they came up with only minutes ago, but maybe she could snatch some for herself.

What a lot to die next to. But there were worse fates. She would not see them on the other side of death, but she would know, and they would know, what it was to do battle with the other. That would remain with them as their journeys continued on into the next life.

“ _Du bekar!_ ” Bern shouted as he urged his pony into a canter down the slope, disappearing into the trees. The dwarves behind him answered, their cry reaching high and far. Even when they had gone from the hobbits’ sight, their rumbling carried on, a thunderous roar down the side of the mountain.

“This can’t possibly work.” She turned to see Bilbo watching the dust rising through the leaves, indicating where the army was. He shook his head when he met her eyes. “Hate to be the raincloud, and I’m really not qualified to make judgments in this case, but I don’t see how we’ll possibly gain the advantage here. There’s too many of them.”

“I know.” She patted his arm. “But it’s all we’ve got left.”

“We’ll give them a good show,” Garth said, steely eyes glaring down into the field at the Men. “One that will make them think twice before coming at us unprepared again.”

Cori already braced for the worst. At the first sign of this going south, she would try her best to get the hobbits out of here as fast as possible. She had to get Garth home, and return Lizzy to her Pa, and make sure all the families the rest of them left behind would not have to have more funerals for their relatives. The rest of the world could call them craven. Cori called it survival.

She was ready to die. But she was not ready to see the rest of them follow.

The dwarves reached the bottom of the slope, and as they broke through the trees onto the battlefield, they bellowed another string of words in a powerful, unified exclamation. “ _Khazâd ai-mênu!_ ” _The dwarves are upon you!_

The troop galloped out of the trees and veered to the right, settling into a two-abreast formation. They lined up in front of the army, forming a rank two-deep. The dwarves already on the battlefield shouted a loud, jovial, triumphant greeting, their spirits renewed. For the children of Mahal, the day was never done before it began. Bern, quite visible even from their perch, directed the group with his ax to their mark, then turned off to join the other leaders. For a moment, the dust and bulk of the warriors prevented her from seeing nothing more than a few glimpses into the army. When everything was settled, she noticed Bern leaning over his pony’s withers, speaking to a dwarf in front of the army. It was right next to the obvious golden head she had seen earlier. It had to be the king.

“Ready on your weapons!” Cori shouted, sending the order down the line beside her. Garth repeated it, his voice ringing louder than hers. The hobbits took up their bows, settling them firmly in their preferred hands just as they had been taught. Their line straightened out as they stood on their knees to see over the cliff side. With arrows resting against their bowstrings, they actually looked pretty seamless. Cori beamed at her little bunch. They wanted to be a legitimate army, like the warrior stories of old they all grew up on, and what a thing to see how far they had come to make that happen. She never felt prouder of her people.

Bern’s unusually sharp whistle pierced the tense air. The signal for the first charge. A great shout bounced over the field, weapons held in the air and mounts dancing in anticipation. With a mighty roar, the front line rushed forward, once again raising a cloud of dust behind them from the dry grass and dirt. Their weapons beat against any metal on their person or mount and shrouded the meadow in a deafening cacophony. The pace was swift; they swept over the land in an impressive synchronization. As they drew nearer, the front line of the black-cloaked warriors faltered in their configuration, backing away.

Cori smirked. There would be nowhere to run.

Rising to her feet, Cori lifted her sword into the air until it caught the reflection of the sun. The hobbits prepared to draw. “Aim toward the back of the army!” she called, and they pulled their strings back. She measured their angle, finding it plausible, before bringing her sword down in a violent thrust. A volley of yellow-fletched arrows sprang from the cliff and fluttered through the air. The arch was almost perfect, and a deadly rain pelted the bottom-left portion of the Men’s army, from the hobbit’s perspective. A mass of soldiers dropped beneath it. “Yes!” she hissed beneath her breath.

The armies collided in a flurry of swords and horse hair.

Cori called for another release, this one bearing the same success as the last.

“We’re doing it!” came Basil’s shout as they watched another group fall. She and Lizzy, kneeling on either side of Garth, seemed to be the most comfortable with their weapons out of the entire army. They excelled with the art.

Not long after, the rest of the dwarf army came up on foot, splitting off into two companies and curling around the Men. The force pressed them into even tighter confines. Those who were on the outside had no choice but to fight alone, their fellow soldiers behind them unable to squeeze through the crowd to get to them. There was nowhere to go for them except back, until another yellow barrage dropped onto them from above and took out the exit route. With little wiggle room, all the soldiers could do was wait for their inevitable demise as the dwarves nibbled bit-by-bit on the outer rim.

Their silly spur-of-the-moment strategy was actually working. By taking away their freedom, they reduced Ryone’s specially-trained fighters to nothing more than a desperate defensive wall with no room t perform their fancy tricks. They were completely useless, and the dwarves left a trail of bodies as they plowed into the horde. They could actually win this. But there was no victory until the designer of his abominable exhibition tasted a bit of her darker, creative side.

Cori dashed off her post and crouched beside Garth. “You’re in charge, little brother. You make the calls. I have something I need to do.”

His eyes widened in surprise, obviously not anticipating any deviation from the plan. “Cori, what…?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just keep doing what we’ve been doing and you’ll be just fine.” She pecked his cheek once before bounding over to Shadow and throwing herself aboard. As the hobbits watched her with confusion erupting in calls of her name, she saluted them and galloped off into the forest.

She was making a huge assumption, but she needed to be sure she did not waste any opportunity. This was almost Ryone’s entire force brought together into one place. He _had_ to be here. Most likely, he hunkered down in the woods behind his army, watching the progress from a safe, unapproachable distance, if he had not already run after seeing his army falling into a bit of a pickle.

She fought with herself a long time about whether or not to go through with this. She would be alone, while he most certainly did not remain unguarded. But she needed, more than anything, to see him leave this earth, choking on his own blood and reaching desperately for a salvation she would not have the mercy to give him. She needed to see him die, to know that he would no longer be a plague to those in the Blue Mountains or the Shire.

She pulled Shadow to a stop to find a place to peer own into the valley to see how far she had gone. But, at the same time, she felt dizzy. It scared her, this dark lust building up inside her. She had never desired to see someone suffer for their crimes as much as she wished it now. She could feel her heart hardening, allowing for thoughts that she could not abide in the past. At that moment, she longed for his end to come slowly while he screamed, and she wanted it to be a deed of her own blade.

She shook her head and gritted her teeth. _You are not a monster! You are not like him!_ The terrifying thought sobered her up quickly. No. This scum was not worth destroying herself. He had already ruined her enough. She had to find him quickly and end this.

Suddenly, a swift force plowed into her side, knocking Shadow off balance and sending Cori to the ground. Her shoulder hit the dirt hard, and she rolled back to her feet with pain-fueled fury taking control of her sword arm. She wrenched her blade from the sheath at her side and instinctively thrust upward, sword cutting through the air just shy of hitting the culprit in the ribs. A much longer sword knocked hers to the side, and though she managed to keep a firm grip on it, she stumbled back a few steps. The air rushed from her lungs when a boot pressed into her chest, knocking her flat onto her spine and pinning her in the grass and mud. She followed the length of the long leg, scowl trailing up toward the young face attached to it. He was out of boyhood, though just barely. The expression he stared at her with was an exact reflection of what she had just felt in herself moments ago: mindless bloodlust. The will to survive had taken over, bringing out what heartless conditioning had branded onto him. But he was young, and Cori felt her heart pull painfully as she slit her blade along the back of his knee.

He cried out hoarsely, hand flying back to grip at the rip in his trousers and immediately soaking with blood. As his leg gave out, he fell on top of her, and she saw sparks when his elbow collide with her soft belly. But she lithely wriggled free, painfully rising to a stand. Her hip throbbed, but she ignored it, raising her sword and pressing the tip to the boy’s chin. He lashed out, trying to sweep her feet out from beneath her with his untouched leg, but she was ready. Dancing just out of reach, she dropped onto his torso with her legs on either side, keeping her blade at his throat. He just would not give up, would he?

She froze. Her eyes locked onto his face. Where there had been rage and plans for her death only seconds ago, there now sat the evidence of who this really was: a boy fighting for his life. His expression was open and passive, pleading without words. His chest frantically worked in fear, small whimpers escaping from his split, parted lips. The sword he had desperately forced at her now lay on the ground, forgotten, and despite it being well within his reach, he had no intention of going for it. The threat was gone here.

_You won’t kill him,_ said a soft, feminine, encouraging voice in her head that sounded like nobody she had ever heard before. _You are not a monster, Cori Houndberry. You will not kill him!_

She pushed the edge of her sword near the hilt underneath his chin, leaning closer. “You’ll tell me what I need to know,” she growled, low but with enough force for him to hear. “You will, won’t you?”

His sweat-soaked, curly auburn hair bobbed as he nodded, brow twitching in pain from his bleeding leg.

Ripping his scarf from his neck, she lowered her sword and dropped down to his knee. Wrapping the cloth around the shallow wound, she pulled it tight until he gnashed his teeth. Then she returned to his torso, laying the flat of her blade across his chest in a subtle reminder. “Your commander isn’t on this field. Funny that, isn’t it? Sate my curiosity, why don’t you?”

He took a moment to recover, obviously expecting some kind of painful end to befall him. Blinking his eyes, he forced down a hard swallow. “I cannot say.”

“I don’t want to, lad,” she said, shifting her sword up just a little farther beneath his chin. “I really don’t.”

Just as the blade touched his throat, he reached up to grip her wrist. “Wait, wait! I’ll tell you.”

“Don’t have time for games. Get to it.”

He nodded jerkily, keeping one eye on her small sword. “A little less than a league to the northwest from here. There is a rock jutting from the mountainside. It’s got a perfect view of the valley. He’s watching from there.”

Predictable, as always. Sending others to do his dirty work is the very definition of Ryone of Rohan: content to watch the mayhem he created from afar. Maybe it was an effort to keep the blood off his hands so he could actually sleep at night. No need to understand what spun around in that bastard’s head. All she had to know was how to speculate his movements. “You’ll take me there.”

His eyes widened. “He’ll kill me.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll kill him first. Take me there.”

He was hesitant, searching for another option. A sharp sword pressed harder into the soft skin of his jugular, assuring him there was only one way, and it was non-negotiable. “All right.”

Confident that his injury would keep him relatively in place, she leapt off him and marched over to where Shadow had danced off to drag him back. The boy took a firm grasp of the pony’s saddle and hauled himself to his feet with a wince and a grunt. Once he was on, Cori jumped up in front of him, fighting back a smile at how his feet dangled nearly to the ground. She grabbed both his hands and wrapped them around her waist, patting them thrice. “Those stay right there.” She turned Shadow back in the direction she had been going and urged him into a canter.

The sturdy little beast did not struggle beneath the weight, moving swiftly in between the trees. Cori stayed within the cover of the trees, but always remained just close enough to the edge to peak at what was happening below. From what she could see, the Men remained where they stood, very few actually taking advantage of having an opening to escape the battle with their lives. Absolutely baffling. “What’s your goal, this fight?” she asked the boy behind her, aware of the type of answer she would get.

“Our lord says this will bring peace to Eriador, which the dwarves are disrupting. It is a corruption that common folk aren’t aware is happening, but that we should follow Ryone because he’s the only one taking a stand.”

So “lord” was not Ryone, then. Lord of Overton, maybe? Or the people that lived there, at least, who probably came from a settlement somewhere south similar to Ryone’s home sweet home. His tongue flowed freely. And there was little conviction behind his words. He did not believe any of that. “And you? What’s got you wandering the woods and attacking unsuspecting strangers?”

He was silent for a moment, and she pinched a finger to urge him on. “Patrolling, making sure no dwarves slip from the valley.”

Oh, they might find the hobbits. Hopefully Bilbo and Garth had enough sense to keep an eye out on their flank. “That all?”

He sighed. “My father, before he passed, told me to remain loyal to my countrymen and to never pass up the chance to fight for my home. It’s the greatest honor for a man. I’m remembering him well by fighting today.”

Such a waste of loyalty. A promising soldier like this was better suited to King Thengel’s forces. A kind soul steered in the wrong direction. She did not regret staying her blade. “Your fellow soldiers will die for this?”

“There’s only the choice of victory or death. To remain on the field is to die with dignity. To abandon is to never see our families again; deserting is the highest disgrace and is punishable by exile. We fight, knowing we’re fulfilling the greater good.”

“The greater good involves attacking innocents in the Shire, folk who do nothing but exist in their own world and hurt no one?”

He stalled again. “He said they were sheltering friends of the dwarves, people that would give them aid.”

_Damn._ “That’s a well-rehearsed speech you had there. Thing is, the only change you’ve brought to Eriador is war and devastation. Surprise. Ryone’s lying to you. You’re killing and dying to please the whims of a man who thought he deserved a better lot in life than he got and is taking his anger out on others. Who knows? Maybe he did deserve better, at one time. But poverty takes who it wants. You’re accomplishing nothing, and especially eliminating a threat that wasn’t there to begin with.”

His chest expanded against her back, a sharp exhale disturbing her hair. He was as taut as a bowstring. “No wonder none of this has felt right.”

Smart boy. “Your town’s a mess. You should take your family and return to where you’re from. Gondor, I presume? You’ve got the jawline and the nose.”

“I…have no family.”

“Then use that head on your shoulders and flee into the wilderness. I’m sure you’ll survive just fine on your own.”

“Then you’ll let me live?”

She grinned around her shoulder, giving him her real answer contrary to her next words. “You haven’t shown me Ryone’s outpost yet.”

“We aren’t far now.”

Truly, they made it around the battlefield in little time. Concealing them behind a thick patch of bushes and undergrowth, Cori peered through Shadow’s ears. Kneeling on one knee, the sharp-featured blond man stood on a boulder breaking through the thick pines surrounding them. Next to him was another soldier cloaked in black, and they both peered down at the battlefield, clearly discontent with what they saw.

She released the boy’s hands, giving him her gaze. “You’ve fulfilled your end of the bargain, now I’ll do my part. Go. Get as far away from here as you can and don’t look back.”

Wasting no time, he gingerly slid to the ground, hobbling until he stood at Shadow’s shoulder. He seemed bewildered, possibly having come to terms with the fact that he would die here today. The words he wanted to say did not reach past his moving lips, so he just nodded once.

“Safety and healing to you.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Darad, son of Torad.”

She offered her hand. “Cori Houndberry of the Shire.”

He took her smaller fingers within his grasp, giving them a slight shake. “Thank you, Miss Houndberry.” Casting one last glance toward the sentries, he hastily limped off into the bush, disappearing without a sound. His survival was secured, and his young blood would mend his wound swiftly. Cori released a long breath, feeling just a little better about this day.

Now she had work to do.

That is, if she could find out how to execute it. And someone. While coming here seemed like the best option, she truly had no idea how to go about this. What were the chances of actually catching him off his guard? Oh, he would be vindictive about what she had done to him the last time they met, and he would most likely want to enact revenge. There was a possibility that she could lead him down the mountain and onto the battlefield where he would be exposed to the dwarves, though she would have to tread lightly to avoid his guard dogs. While she wanted to believe he was, she knew he was not nearly that stupid.

He leaned over to mumble something to his second, and Cori felt her blood boil. She reached for her bow.

It would be so easy, she told herself as she positioned Shadow to face them. One arrow, or maybe two, if she was quick. Her arrows were short, but she was only so strong, so her draw weight was slight. The distance would be no problem. There was nothing to lose for trying. And what if she hit her mark? Her spine shivered in pleasure at the very idea.

Sliding an arrow from behind her shoulder, she put the nock to the string. Letting out a breath to calm her shaking hands, she lifted the weapon and aimed. Shadow stood perfectly still beneath her, just as she had trained him, one eye on her and both ears attentively facing back. Her arm wobbled when she pulled back as far as the string allowed, the woods of the limbs creaking with the strain. Just a little to the right…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't use cliffhangers very often, but this felt like a good spot. ;D
> 
> Man, if only I had popped chapters out like this the entire time. The chapter after this had also been partially written for some time, so it didn't take very long to put it down. And, if it gives any indication of what's to come, I was just incredibly excited to write it. As I am for the rest of the story. Once again, I'll try my best to get the next one out tomorrow or the next day, but I've learned not to promise anything. Just know it'll be this weekend. It's worth waiting for, that I can promise. :)


	35. The Long Breath

She released, the twang of the bowstring loud in the quiet forest, and she knew without a doubt that that was a nearly perfect shot. The arrow flittered through the air, curving with the breeze just a little, but she had compensated for it. Her aim was true. The rock point pierced its mark with a hard thud, embedded in Ryone’s left shoulder through the back. He cried out, falling forward with his hand clutching the limb.

 _Yes!_ That felt better than leaving that gash in his thigh. At her leisure, Cori released another arrow, striking the nearest sentry in the chest and propelling him back and out of the world. Once she eliminated the next one (it could not possibly be this easy), she aimed for Ryone’s second, who had drawn his sword and stood over his pathetically prone leader. Shadow stood completely still, and her hands had yet to begin to tremble with adrenaline. The arrow would hit right between his eyes, quick and relatively painless.

No, it was not that easy.

He sliced the air just as the shaft neared his face, knocking it to the side as if flicking a fly buzzing around his head.

Cori gasped. Could anyone be _that_ quick? Yeah, the elves, but this certainly was not of anyone with Eldar blood. He brandished his sword between two hands, smirking into the trees in her direction. “Come out and face us, coward!” he snarled, happy to meet anyone who appeared at his command. Two more men, sentries on the other side of the clearing, joined him. “Or do you lack the honor? So far, you have sat in the shadows and shot at four men with their backs turned.”

 _Why do Men insist on being shown honor when they show none to begin with?_ Letting out a sigh, she pulled back two more arrows in rapid succession, taking out the other sentries. With no more in sight, she decided it was time to stop playing around. She guided Shadow out of the undergrowth and into the light of the sun. The man seemed momentarily taken aback at the sight of her, looking around her shoulder for the followers he would not find. Nope, she was it. He was pleased with the idea of her being alone, that grin on his face much too eager and nasty. “Elusive little thing you are, halfling,” he chided. “Been looking for you. Still cowering with the dwarves, huh? Playing their little whore?”

There could only be one she knew with an ugly face like that and the charm to match. He had been one of her captors at Annúminas, the unfortunate bloke who had been tasked with holding onto her at the moment she unleashed all her anger on him and his leader. Not terribly difficult to overlook. “I imagine I could scamper around your feet without you ever knowing. That eye looks bad. How is it, by the way?”

The obtrusive scar cutting from his forehead and all the way across his cheek shifted as he furrowed his brow. Her blind swipe upward during her escape had truly done a number on him. Damn. She was so close to taking his sight, too. He seemed less than appreciative of her accidental mercy. “You marked me, runt! Now I’m going to carve up your face in return.”

Cori jumped from Shadow’s back, nocking an arrow onto her bow.  The soldier was big—taller and broader than Ryone (which said very little)—and he seemed to know where his strengths were. Those kinds of men, however, tended to ignore their weaknesses in hopes of overcoming them. Her mouth twitched just slightly. “You’re going to have to find it first. Take your time. I’m sure it can’t be easy with that hole in yours.”

Well received, that jab. He gritted his teeth and charged, much too ferociously to be going after a creature half his size, but how he chose to do battle was all him, right? But had she not already proven herself slick and cunning? He had every reason to take her seriously. She pulled her sword and stepped aside, out of range of his predictable thrust, making sure to give his blade a tap to the side for good measure. He stopped abruptly, rushing back toward her with his sword aimed for her chest. She repeated the maneuver, cutting at his thigh where the armor did not cover. When she ducked, however, she lowered her face to where her chest had been. She yelped at the sharp sting on her pointed ear, too slow to dodge his blade entirely. She ignored the warm blood trickling down from the helix as he pushed through the pain of his own injury and dove for her yet again. This time, he was ready for her feint, if she had actually performed it. She remained straight this time, aiming her sword up toward his groin. He quickly recovered, blocking her attack and shoving her to the side with little effort. She stumbled, falling onto her aching shoulder. The return to her feet felt like rising out of swamp muck.

Her body was tiring quicker than her resolve. She had not been fresh to begin with. This needed to end before her arms failed to lift her sword and her legs gave out beneath her.

She did not see the boot rushing toward her, driving into her chest with enough force to push her back to the ground. She hit hard once again, a pained grunt of frustration falling out of her. _He’s coming_! That long sword of his was going right through her. But when she felt around, she could not find hers. She rolled onto her back, realizing with a squeeze to her heart that she would be watching the cause of her death rush toward her and slide deep into her body.

Only three words leapt to her mind in that second. _I love you._

A flash of yellow streaked by above her head, and within the blink of her eye, an arrow protruded from the soldier’s chest directly above his armor. With the furious light extinguished from his eyes, he fell back like a toppled tree, the sword that had almost taken Cori’s life forgotten on the ground beside him. She could not help but stare at it, letting out a breath. _Death’s getting too friendly._ She twisted around to behold and lay a thousand thanks on her savior. A kiss and an ale, no matter who they were. She gasped when Bilbo appeared from within the trees, bow in his grip. The rest of the hobbits congregated behind him, on guard and ready to throw down. “Good shot,” she panted, watching spots dance across her vision.

Bilbo shrugged. His rapidly-blinking eyes stared at the prone man and the protrusion coming out of his chest. “Thanks, but that wasn’t me.”

Before she could demand to see which hobbit had the makings to be her apprentice and had probably spent some time with elves without telling her, a distinct rumble came from the forest all around them. Cori had not even made it to her wobbly legs yet before the entire clearing was surrounded by dwarves. Puffing in anger and breathlessness from their run, they filled the empty space with suffocating heat. It was a small regiment compared to what had been on the battlefield, but their blood-stained armor and dirty faces presented a menacing display. She cocked her head at Bilbo. “How’d you know where to find me?”

He turned and pointed behind him, and then she realized Gandalf stood there, sweat tangling his hair and blood still shining on his sword. He grinned down at her with a grandfatherly chiding. “I joined with the hobbits not long after you left. They said they couldn’t tell where you’d gone, but I knew. I saw Ryone through a spyglass. The battle had gone to the dwarves without question at that moment, so Garth insisted we follow you. I agreed. Figured you would need some assistance for whatever your absurd mind prompted you to do this time.”

Said hobbit slid out from within the group and ran toward her, squeezing her into his chest with frantic potency. She gripped him back, sure that she would collapse were he not holding her so tightly. He felt so good in her arms. “I love you,” he whispered.

“Love you,” she replied, grappling with tears as she tried to remember when her little brother had grown up so much. No longer a boy, she thought as she glanced at the bow strung over his back and his intended watching them with an adoring smile on her face. A man.

The next thing she did was hug that sweet, Valar-sent little Baggins. She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed with everything she had left. “That Took blood does you wonders, friend.”

He laughed nervously, an awkward arm wrapped around her back. “Done me a wonderful amount of insanity, it has.”

She almost reached for Lizzy, but just as they fell against each other, a chuckle came from behind her, so deranged and euphoric in a sickening way that her spine tingled. She kept her arm around the girl and turned back to the boulder, brow locked into a scowl. Ryone watched her from his knelt position, one hand clutching his bleeding shoulder and eyes flashing wildly. The fear that had been on the faces of his men was not present on this one. The loss of blood had surely gotten to him. But the hobbit knew he just could not feel anything. “Well done, Coronilla. Impressive for that shy, naïve little girl I knew all those years ago, just a speck of a thing. You managed to assemble all this for little old me.”

Her spine tensed when she felt the eyes of the hobbits fall on her. In fact, it was not just them. Everyone had heard, and a low murmuring ran through the clearing. When Lizzy slipped out from beneath her arm, her head began to swim. _He did it again._ Her chin rose just an inch. _It does not matter._ “You brought this on yourself. Going after the dwarves? Haven’t you visited a library recently? And then you just had to stoke the fire with the hobbits. And how about that? It burns. Congratulations. You know how to create allies. Just, not on your side.”

He chuckled, wincing when it jolted his shoulder. That seemed to spur him into even more laughter. “Striking words, Coronilla. Hypocritical, I’d like to point out, but then you would know all about keeping close those who you’ve betrayed.”

The strike felt like a swift hand to her cheek. But she kept herself from flinching. “What did you think would happen when you attacked the Shire? That we would sit quietly and take it?”

He scoffed. “But of course. It’s that innocence, you know? You had it. And I thought I could use it. No one would suspect a sweet little halfling to do any harm. What a powerful asset. Perfect for getting into situations that require a delicate hand. I tested out the idea with you, and it worked well for a while. But then you had to go and defect, and I knew you were too devoted to that virtue. You did what needed to be done, eventually, but I decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. Keeping up with my soldiers’ loyalty isn’t a very productive use of my time. So there went that.”

She stewed. “So you just like corrupting beautiful things?”

He shrugged. “If you’re insinuating that that’s why I did it, you’re a little off. I don’t need loose flies. And I grew tired of the dwarves dancing around us for a moon. I needed them to go after me.”

He knew an attack on the Shire would strike a nerve with the dwarves, or the right ones for that matter. And she was the only link in that scenario; highly unlikely he actually knew about Bilbo’s association. He had not done it solely in revenge for what she did. Just an unfortunate coincidence that she knew the dwarves, and the hobbits were caught in the crossfire.

Somehow, that was even worse.

Ryone snickered. “You brought those dwarves from Overton, didn’t you? Got back in there once again and pulled them out. Maybe I was wrong to let you go so easily. You truly are a remarkable critter, huh?”

“Fat chance!” she shouted, scrambling for the control that was rapidly slipping out of her hands. “You would have had to kill me before I did anything else for you!”

“Was this before or after the cave?”

When she screamed and lunged toward him, she knew it was with enough force to escape her brother’s hand clamped around her elbow. All she could see was her own fingers wrapped around that Man’s throat, his eyes growing wide as he fought for a breath. So when a much stronger hand yanked her back into a hard chest, she was thrown off her guard. She felt the bristling of a beard on her ear. “Don’t you go tainting your soul, lassie.” Bern. “Not with your hands. You’re too good for that.”

She slumped against his arm clamped around her waist, suddenly extremely exhausted.

“Enough games, Ryone,” came a voice from the crowd, and there he was. Cori could not tear her eyes from him. Thorin looked just the same, if a bit heavier in the shoulders with dark rings beneath his eyes. But despite the substantial weight bearing down on him, he stood tall among his fellow dwarves. A born commander. He was stunning. “You are fooling no one,” he growled, slipping out of the circle of dwarves with his elven sword brandished at his side. “This battle is over. Your men deserted you. What was left of them have fled for the wilderness. You’re alone.”

Ryone barked a laugh. “Now who’s toying with the mind, huh?”

His words rolled off the king like water, and Thorin smirked. “Did you really think you could win?”

He snorted loudly. “Have we two different definitions of winning? There were few of you when I started, and there are fewer than that now. I foresee you lasting into the future no longer than it takes a tree to reach full height. Someone will continue what I started, when they finally see you for who you really are: greedy termites digging this world out from underneath us. I _have_ won.”

A tense silence hung in the air, tempers rising. Yet, in the midst of it all, Thorin lowered his head and began to laugh. It was a low chuckle deep in his chest, then it moved past parted lips and white teeth as he stared down the smug grin of the blond man. “Bring him down.”

Two dwarf soldiers stepped onto the boulder and took the man beneath his arms. He snarled when his shoulder shifted, but there was no dread beneath the pain. They stopped him on the grass, right before the king. Thorin grinned. He had something to say, and it was not just for the Man. “If you think we will not endure, you have falsely judged us on many levels. We have lived on the precipice for millennia with the world, like you, bent on burying us. We have survived, and we will continue to survive because that is all we know how to do. And I dare say we do it well.” A chorus of agreements met him when he gave the crowd an eye. “We will recover, Ryone, because we have proven to ourselves today that _nothing_ will break us. Everyone else present has seen that, too. You are the only one who is unwilling to see what is right in front of you.”

It was a good thing he had not spoken just to Ryone, because every word sailed past his head. The smirk stuck to his handsome face. “Oh, I have seen much, dwarf king. I’ve observed, and I’ve had others observe for me. And I’ve come to the conclusion that there is something that will break you.” His narrow eyes slithered over the young princes standing behind Thorin, squinting in glee when Dwalin shoved the both of them behind him. “There’s always something that will break you.”

No one anticipated that the weakened man would try to break free, so when he yanked his right arm away, the hands holding him released with no resistance. The arm slipped down to his hip, and there was only a flash of metal in the sun before the knife spun through the air. For a moment, the crowd could not tell where it had gone. Then Lizzy screamed. “Cori!”

Cori stumbled back into Bern, staring perplexed at the hilt jutting out from her abdomen. There was a slight sting.

“‘An eye for an eye,’ Coronilla,” Ryone called out, growling as the dwarves yanked his arms around his back. “What a foolish thing you did, taking a swipe at me that night. And what have we learned?”

A scramble of hobbits clambered around the dwarf as he held her up, and a chorus of dwarf voices shouted her name above the outcry rippling through the army. However, they halted their charge toward her when she pushed through the hobbits and stood steadily on both feet, grinning. With a grunt, she yanked the knife out of her belly, the blade tearing at her shirt to flash the leather brigandine beneath, and tossed it into the dirt. _Nothing_ was more satisfying than watching the bewilderment and fear spread across his face.

“Yes, Ryone. As a matter of fact, I’ve learned a lot.”

Yanking her bow off her shoulder, she drew the last arrow rattling around in her quiver and pulled, sending the barb straight between his eyes. The impact knocked his head back, and the surprised soldiers jumped away. Without their support, he fell back into the grass with a thump. The confusion permanently etched into his face from the last thing lingering in his eyes: a hobbit girl aiming at him with his death in her hands. He was gone instantly afterward.

She released her breath. “I’ve realized that the world would be a lot brighter without you around to pervert it.”

She wanted to lift off the ground and fly; that would come in time. The darkness tailing her at all times lifted, as if waiting for this very moment. All she could feel then was numbness. Freedom. Was this freedom?

The meadow paused in a tense silence as everyone looked from the body to each other, waiting for someone else to make the next move. Then, out of the crowd, a Khuzdul cry lifted high. “ _Khayam!_ ”

“ _Khayam!_ ” came the answer, echoing against the trees and the mountainside. A celebration ensued, each person grasping for the nearest neighbor, whether or not they had met before, and holding tightly. A few of the dwarves took a hobbit into their arms, patting them on the back and nearly tossing them into the dirt. The hobbits, though still trying to catch up, rejoiced with them anyway, dancing with each other as if the victory celebrations had already begun.

Cori, legs wobbling, leaned against Garth, tucking her head into the crook of his shoulder and neck. She would sleep right there, if she could, regardless of the loud festivities going on around her. “Is everyone accounted for?”

He nodded, his chin rubbing her forehead. “No one had to do more than shoot a few arrows. Everyone’s unharmed.”

She sighed, closing her eyes for just a moment.

“‘Shoot a few arrows?’” Bern exclaimed from somewhere above them. “What hogwash! You turned the tide, lad! You didn’t see all those blighters speared out in the middle of the field? Took a good chunk out of them, you did. There’s no equating influence in a battle with how many scars you have from it. A good day it’ll be when no one has to get marked in battle again.”

“I guess we can’t complain about being able to live another day,” Bilbo said. “Giver knows I’ve realized that more times than I should ever have.”

“There is never any folly for living through a battle, Mister Baggins,” Gandalf replied, bending to examine the knife-shredded remains of her shirt. “Nor is there any in not wanting to be there in the first place.”

With all her heart, Cori would make sure that the hobbits never discovered the ugliness of the world again. They earned their peace and quiet. And even if she could not revel in it, she would be content to know that, somewhere in the world, there existed a place like the Shire. Where everyone could know the comfort of home at all times. If she could ever ask one thing from the Green Lady, it would be that.

“Cori!”

Her head leapt up from Garth’s shoulder, nearly clocking him in the mouth. She twisted around to find the familiar duet she heard somewhere within the crowd, singing her name like sweet bells. She had just enough time to unwind herself from Lizzy embracing her arm before a wall of muscle and blond hair crashed into her. The reek of sweat, blood, and metal hit her nose with just the same force, but there was still warm blood beneath the skin, and it still flowed. She realized, as soon as his arms came around her, she had begun to cry, but there was little left in her to care. She buried her face into his chest and sob, cursing everything that had ever torn them apart.

“ _Namadith,_ ” he whispered, his breath stirring the hair next to her ear. He was shaking, but his grip on her held firm. “ _Mizimith._ ”

She giggled. What beautiful music those words were, calm and quiet like the rustle of green summer leaves in the evening breeze. Everything about him was sunny and bright. She could bathe in his rays. “Hello, _nadad._ ”

He chuckled, low and heavy with emotion, but then it became hearty, joyful frolics that leapt from this throat boundlessly. “You are mad, Cori! How dare you ever do this to us? You are so…” He gingerly knocked his head to hers in emphasis, and she laughed aloud.

“Hey, now! Don’t be hogging her all to yourself.”

Cori smiled widely, reluctantly pulling away only to fall into the equally jovial and comforting embrace of the other brother. Kíli’s larger frame enveloped her more so than Fíli’s did, folding over her protectively. Nothing in the world could touch her here. “Where in Mahal’s name did you go?” He stepped back, keeping his hands locked around both her arms as if expecting her to float away just then as well.

“Buckland,” she said, giving them each a guilty grin.

Fíli lifted his hands. “I told you!” he snapped, popping his brother on the arm with the back of his hand. “We should have tried a little harder. We both came after you, thinking the Shire was _exactly_ where you’d go, but the Rangers had the place locked up tight to anyone other than hobbits. Then he had to go and put doubt in my head about whether or not you were actually there. We just went back to Ereven after that.”

“She said she had some discourse with her family. I didn’t think she would go straight to them.”

“Well, Bilbo would have been my next choice. You think about him?”

Their bickering dissolved into nothing but sound as she looked back and forth between these two incredible men. No matter how hard she tried, she just could not comprehend how she deserved their loyalty to that degree. To leave behind their kin and search for her, damning the consequences they might face upon their return?

 _Erebor_ did not deserve these beautiful hearts.

Their voices halted when she pulled them both in for another long embrace, planting a kiss on either of their dirty cheeks. When they closed around her once again, she felt it. _This. This is home._

“Neither of you are hurt, are you?” She reached up to brush her thumb over a spot of blood on Kíli’s cheek, finding no source beneath it.

“We’re fine. And you’re holding up all right?” They both watched her as if they were looking at a ghost. Oh, right. She probably had blood flowing down the side of her face from her ear, and she had just taken a knife to the stomach and lived. That would throw anyone for a loop.

“I’ll answer that honestly when I’ve had a decent rest in a bed.”

“Think we all could use that,” Fíli replied, checking within the tear of her shirt and shaking his head at some thought he had. “We’ve certainly had a time of it recently.”

“You’re telling me.” She had just looked around at the mob of dwarves surrounding them, greeting each other and checking up on those who were injured (none seemed to be too bad), when she caught sight of something that sent her heart racing like an eagle on the wind.

The King Under the Mountain, stripped of his armor and draped in dirty mail and muddy trousers, strode toward them with a powerful length in his walk and his hair flowing behind him. He weaved in between the crowd of dwarves, trying not to push anyone aside but desperately trying to get to where he was going. His eyes were set directly on her. He also seemed to be beholding an apparition, and he did not look away once. As he came only a short distance from her, the steady countenance he had kept up until that point fell, replaced with pure devastation. His arms wrapped around her shoulders like a blanket.

And she could breathe.

His large body pressed to hers, quaking with silent sobs that only came as stuttered breaths. His hand gripped her hair to the point of pain, and his nose sifted through it until the tip touched her pointed ear. Anguish cracked in his voice. “I thought you were dead.”

He did not admonish, nor scream, nor curse her. As if his words were a gate allowing her into a forbidden place, she embraced him back, hiding her face within the leather and mail draped over his torso. And they stayed like that for several moments, feeling each other’s heartbeat and listening to each other’s breath. They gave no heed to anyone around them, and no one disturbed them. It was just peace.

Keeping a firm hand cupped to the back of her head, he slipped away and examined her completely, fingers lingering on her stomach the same way Fíli’s had. He sighed exhaustedly and dropped his forehead onto hers. Of what she could see of his eyes, they were red and wet. “We heard the Shire was attacked, and that you were there, and then you were gone.” He took a shuddering breath, clenching his jaw. “I thought I had sent you to your death. It would have been my fault, and I would never be able to tell you how sorry I am that I…”

Stunned, she could only watch as panic took him: the hand lingering by her face, just a breath away from skimming her cheek, trembled, a single tear dripped from the corner of his eye to trail into his beard, and his hair curtained them both in as if veiling them from the rest of the world. She snapped to attention when his words finally stopped making sense, and she moved her hands from his coat lapels to his cheeks. He quieted immediately, eyes closing and head tilting into her touch. His lips brushed her palm, but did nothing more. Finally, when he could gather himself, he looked back down at her. “If I had lost you, I don’t know how I would…”

He did not need to say the words that she had been looking for. He teetered on the edge of breaking down right in front of his army and kin, and seemed to have half a mind to let it happen. It spoke more than any words could convey, and she wanted to scream and laugh with jubilation. Lifting up on her toes and throwing her arms around his neck, she ducked beneath his nose and pressed her lips to his. He responded without hesitation, caging her against his body and trying to pull her closer still.

The kiss was frantic, starved, and full of apologies from both sides and promises of better things to come. Cori wanted nothing to do with those promises. They were too fragile, prone to breaking with a single crashing wave. All she needed was that he was here now and that his unspoken words of forgiveness were sincere. The rest would fall in line after that.

Thorin was the first to pull back, taking his sweet time as his lips lingered. A half-drunk smile tilted his mouth to the side, and merriment danced around in his glistening eyes. “You will be my death.”

She snickered, playfully bumping her nose to his. “Probably. I’m just glad it’s not today.”

“So am I.” He grinned, drawing her back in for another toe-curling kiss. When he released her, his face sobered somewhat. “We must talk.”

“Oh, Valar, yes. And we’re not going to stop. _Everything’s_ coming out, I don’t care. We are _not_ , as long as I’m still functioning, _ever_ doing all of that poppycock again, or so help me, I will lock us up in a room and slide the key beneath the door. Someone can let us out when they hear the kissing.”

He chuckled as she rambled on, watching her with adoration in his eyes. “So be it.”

“Where is she?!”

Cori jerked away at the angry roar nearby, coaxing her heart into rhythm again with the reminder that the threat was gone. Rapid footsteps behind her called her attention, and she froze in place when she saw the steaming dwarf thicker than a tree trunk marching toward her. A snarl twitched within Dwalin’s beard, and his brow pinched tightly. He was obviously intent on plowing right into her. “Are ya out of your mind, lass?” he growled.

“Absolutely.”

The ferocity melted away instantly, replaced with a grin as he bent down to engulf her in his thick, muscular arms, pulling her away from Thorin and off her feet. “That’s what I thought.”

It mattered little, what she had expected to happen upon meeting Dwalin again. He would remain on his king’s side at all times, a steadfast shadow when others left him. And for that, she would forever be grateful, because she knew Thorin would never be alone as long as Dwalin walked with him. She knew he was sore about what happened, for leaving Thorin in the difficult predicament that she did, and she had not counted on being in his favor entirely again. At least not to this degree. So as she squeezed him tightly, enduring his thumping pats to her back, she thanked Aulë for the wisdom of this dwarf and the discernment for when and where to give his rare mercy.

As the brothers singled him out for some teasing and bickering, still riding the high of the battle and the victory, Cori escaped the circle slowly closing in on her and retreated back into Thorin’s side. He welcomed her with a kiss on the temple, tucking her beneath his arm. She wanted to take every moment, every opportunity, to revel in his warmth and familiarity. Before the next thing tore them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> khayam: victory
> 
> All together now: "FINALLY!!" I probably would've had this up yesterday, but I made my family watch FOTR Extended last night. Oh, it's so long, but so good!  
> Anyway, we are nearing the end: two more chapters. But...don't get comfortable just yet. ;D


	36. The Differences in You And Me

And so ended what would come to be called by the hobbits, and eventually adopted by the rest of Middle-earth, as the Battle Out of Oatbarton.

The arduous task of cleaning up the battlefield fell to the dwarves. The bodies, numerous, were piled up on top of each other and burned; many fires blazed at once across the open field, and the breeze swept up the rancid smell of burning flesh and sent it to everyone around them. Despite everything that had taken place, the dwarves treated the bodies with as much respect as they could muster. At the end of the day, no matter their cause, they were warriors that had died with the honor of facing their enemy rather than retreating when they had many openings. The bitterness remained, but dwarves never looked away from valiant displays in battle. It mattered little that they would not have been given the same treatment were the roles reversed.

Indeed, the rest of the mannish army had fled, leaving their brothers and sisters lying where they fell. The question remained of what to do with them. They were a loose end that may need to be dealt with in the future. No one had expected Ryone to rise again after the altercation thirteen years ago, yet here they were. Many were of the opinion not to take that chance again, to “seize the day,” or so their king had bid them do. They wanted to take their own destiny into their hands by ensuring their descendants’ safety. But, at the moment, most were tired. One battle at a time, they pleaded. There was always tomorrow, but today, they would respite in their victory and allow themselves to grieve.

After much debate, they decided to burn their own fallen as well. It would take too long to dig graves, they argued; they were in the middle of nowhere, and there were wounded to tend to. And so, by the time dusk came around, they had built pyres and set their dead upon them. They were fewer than the Men, but still an uncomfortable amount. There was audible grieving from brothers, sisters, and cousins, and all were met with comfort from those around them, whether or not they had known each other before that day.

Cori, praising Mahal, noted that no one she knew personally was among them. She reunited with the four guards they had sent to Ereven after the attack at Stonewall, including Ion, son of Dion, giving them each the heartiest embrace she could manage while her numb muscles barely kept her on her feet. She stood beside Thorin as they watched the pyres consumed by the flames and flickering brightly in the twilight of the day. He was expressionless, for all intents and purposes: reverent and detached, just as he should have been. Yet, she could see it. That little pinch in his eyes, the tightness of his jaw. He was in pain, seeing more dwarves fall after following him into battle. He was left behind once again. She reached for his hand, making sure his cloak concealed their joining from view. He squeezed once, a quick conveyance of gratitude, and did not let go until it was appropriate for them to walk away from the ceremony.

Whether or not it was necessary, the dwarves decided to escort the hobbits back to the Shire, something that Gandalf greatly approved of as he, once again, disappeared into the wilderness (claiming to be returning to the Grey Havens to spread word of the defeat of Ryone). They insisted it was a courtesy extended as a favor for the hobbits’ response to the call to battle, and for their essential part they played in winning the day. No one objected. In fact, though the idea would remain a secret until the end of days, the hobbits were glad to spend a little more time with their new friends. They seemed to enjoy the others’ presence immensely, delving into conversations ranging from preferred ales to holiday destinations. Trade would blossom after all this, for certain.

Cori rode behind Thorin on Shadow as they headed south toward Hobbiton. She watched the races interact with a smile. At some point, Lizzy had wandered off to chat with one of the lady dwarves. When the woman pulled out her sword and set it across her lap, Lizzy examined it eagerly, with keen interest. Certainly, by the time she returned to her family, that girl would be unrecognizable. While Garth and Basil kept mostly to themselves, it was with a mind to spend time with each other more so than reclusiveness. A few dwarves complimented Garth on his leadership skills, and he took them with a smile. Wherever their walks in life had led them up until the moment they met each other in battle, each hobbit seemed to find a dwarf with common ground to converse with. It was a celebration of life.

“You will not be alone in rebuilding,” Thorin said to Bilbo as the hobbit rode beside them. They had been chatting amicably almost the entire day, laughing and reminiscing. Bilbo told him of his destroyed home, proudly acknowledging how much work he had already put into it. Thorin continued, “The dwarves have been dealt a heavy blow as well, but most of the major cities have recovered so far. They will not abandon you after what you’ve all done. You need only ask.”

“Something tells me you don’t know how much of an obstacle _that_ is,” Bilbo replied with a chuckle. “We share stubbornness, friend, our two kinds. It will take some convincing to get the hobbits to even approach the idea.”

“They don’t have a choice,” Cori piped in. “We won’t survive winter unless we ask for help, no matter where it comes from. It’s just facts.”

Bilbo shrugged. “You can be the one to break it to them.”

Not now, at least. Of course, they had thought about it themselves; they were not so clueless as that. But, right now, that was the furthest thing from their minds, and probably deliberately. They looked much too happy at the moment for her to spoil it.

“It’s the least the dwarves can do, and I’ll make sure that’s known to them,” Thorin said. “We are, after all, the cause of your struggles.”

“They don’t act like it now,” Cori replied. “The hobbits, I mean. It’s probably best not to mention that either, or it’ll hit them, and then we’ll really be in trouble. They might go to war over it, now that they have a second victory under their belt. They’ll think they’re old hats at battles by now.”

“Wouldn’t be the first race to give us the cold shoulder,” Thorin chuckled dryly. “Just another notch in the belt.”

Cori squeezed him. _There he goes again._ As much as the dwarf put the weight of the world on his shoulders, it was a wonder he was not as flat as an omelette. He seemed to be especially self-deprecating as of late, and it bothered her.

The Rangers were overjoyed to hear that the threat had been dealt with, and they allowed the exhausted army through with no delay. When they arrived in Hobbiton, they once again found a whole new town than the one they left. Repair efforts seemed to have doubled after the army left, despite the absence of some of their folk. The Green Dragon, having sustained only minor fire damage to begin with, seemed to be up and running again while a few hobbits worked on adding the finishing details to the exterior. The debris lying around had been picked up, and substantial work had been done to the smials. Daily life seemed to have returned to some semblance of normalcy. The soldiers immensely appreciated coming home to a clean town with plenty of ale still flowing.

Never one to be ungrateful hosts, the hobbits invited the dwarves for some ale that night, and the dwarves were more than happy to toss some coin around for a good Shire brew. As the Green Dragon could not hold all of them, they brought some kegs outside. Music played an uproarious beat, and they all indulged in a feast of celebration before they would have to tighten their belts and address the scarcity. The dwarves had no intention of mooching off people who were so desperately in need. They produced many prizes from their walk through the land just to the north that had been bounteous with wildlife. Deer, squirrels, pheasants, ducks, and many other varieties of meat. There was enough for everyone to have a full belly. And the icing on the cake: the dwarves would only be taking enough of it to survive the journey back to the Blue Mountains, giving the rest to the Shire as a promise that they were willing to extend a hand of aid and would do so later on.

It was the Midsummer’s Eve festival they were not allowed to have.

The sun had set completely, but there seemed to be no end to the party in sight. Why ever would they want to waste such a beautiful evening on sleeping anyway? The summer stars beckoned a long night despite the fact that all the soldiers were practically dead on their feet. So Cori juggled four mugs of ale between her small hands and danced through the crowd to return to their table on the south side of the tavern. There to receive three of them were Dwalin, Fíli, and Kíli, and they accepted her beckoning for a toast before tipping them back. Cori sat down between Lizzy and Kíli and nibbled on her cheese.

“Never seen anything like it,” Dwalin said after slamming his mug back onto the table. “Not even Dáin stomping in before the Battle of Five Armies could compare to that, at least not by way of its reception. Ye gotta understand, we were _doomed,_ and we knew it. But then this massive group comes rumbling down the mountain, out of nowhere.” He cackled. “I think, if ye touched Thorin at that moment, he would’ve toppled over like a statue. He was absolutely struck with the dumb.”

“And then we saw you,” Kíli giggled, nudging Cori with his shoulder. “Bern told us there were hobbit archers waiting on the hillside. If we stared for a bit, we could see the tops of your heads. But then you stood up, and your sword flashed in the sun, and we instantly knew it was you. Who else could it be?”

“Anyone.” She turned her gaze to Dwalin. “I thought we all looked the same to you.”

“A female hobbit with brown hair leading a group of archers?” He scoffed.

“I was under contract not to have anything else to do with you, which I broke, by the way.”

Fíli barked a laugh. “You’ve never bowed and kissed Uncle’s feet before. Why would we think you’d start now?”

“Face it, lass,” Dwalin chuckled over the rim of his mug. “We know ye better than ye think.”

_Better than myself, apparently._ Because, the moment she left Ereven, she had every intention of doing exactly what she was told. It was only when personal matters intervened that she decided to do away with the honor of her word. But, then again, they had no idea how she became mush on the inside when their king was involved.

She had yet to decide how she felt about that.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled to Kíli, catching eyes with his brother as well. “For not saying goodbye. I was a little…out of sorts.”

“What, from Thorin practically kicking you out after confessing to you that he loved you? There’s no reasonable way to respond to that.” Kíli sipped his ale while Fíli practically had a conniption.

Cori blinked. “He what?”

He almost choked when he realized what he had said. Fíli snickered at his brother’s suddenly terrified look. “Oh, you’ve done it now.”

Cori enjoyed the boy’s panic for a moment before giggling. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, lad.”

Fíli punched his shoulder. “The biggest in Erebor.”

Kíli scowled into his cup, as red as Cori’s borrowed dress. “Shut it, the both of you.”

“He wasn’t harsh on either of you for chasing after me, was he?”

Fíli shook his head. “He had that stare—you know the one—that says he’s disappointed in us for not remembering who we are and that we need to be an example. But no. He asked us to stay and help him plan our next move. He was quite pathetic, actually. Regretful and trying too hard not to let it show.”

Judging by the way he talked, the lad was still sour about what Thorin did. She hoped she had not caused any damage to their relationship. Fíli needed Thorin’s guidance more than anyone, being his heir and adopted son. Hopefully, one day, he would see what she had come to terms with: that the choice had not been as black and white as that.

“So…” Cori turned toward her other side, meeting the wide smirk on Lizzy’s ale-flushed face. “You and the dwarf king?”

She still did not have a decisive answer for that yet either. “At one time.”

Dwalin laughed. “If you think, after that display he made on the battlefield, that he’s going back to ignoring you, he’s clearly messed you up real good. Just ask him.”

_So very simple, isn’t it?_

“Well,” Lizzy shrugged, “I think I’ll take his word for it. And, let’s be honest, he had the eyes for you the whole ride back here.” She jumped up with a wink and wandered over to another group of hobbits who immediately topped off her mug. The girl had been a little wary about Cori after hearing what Ryone said and being assured that Cori had been involved with him. The rest of the hobbits were, too. Seeing her put an arrow into his head seemed to temper their resentment, and she hoped it would not have lasting effects. Lizzy already seemed to be comfortable around her again; if she lost that girl’s trust, she would feel it deep in her bones.

“Speaking of His Royal Arseness,” Dwalin said, casting his gaze around, “did he decide to walk back to Erebor? Should have been back by now.”

Thorin had taken off for a private walk with Bilbo around sunset. There still seemed to be a lot of unspoken words between them. Neither were the type to share their inner thoughts at a whim, so maybe it was a conversation long past due. While something inside her was having a fit over not knowing where he was (a product of spending over a month without his company), she was partly glad for the reprieve. It gave her the chance to think clearly, a feat she had trouble with when he was around.

As if summoned by the mere mention of his name (or a derivative of it), the dwarf ambled up the path back into the light of the front yard of the tavern, laughing with his walking companion about something one or the other said. They dismissed each other from the conversation with a pat on the back, and while Bilbo strolled on further into the festivities, Thorin turned directly toward them. She expected him to flop down in Lizzy’s abandoned spot, but he instead stood for a moment, looking between her and the bench with a question in his eyes. She nodded, pointedly ignoring Dwalin’s grunt of a chuckle. She did not care, for when he scooted into her, her whole left side was suddenly lit ablaze.

“You aren’t going to ask?” he inquired after a moment of silence, jerking his head back in the direction Bilbo had gone.

“It’s none of my business. I’m not going to ask after all your affiliations like a nagging—” She slapped her lips shut, absolutely appalled by how recklessly she was about to use that word.

But it did not get past him. He chuckled, playfully rocking his body against hers. “You would not be intrusive. I think we could do with a little openness between us.”

It was true. That was the only thing left that could save them. “When do you plan to leave for Erebor?”

His smile dropped just a little. “As soon as possible. We’ve been gone far too long. Or I have, at least. I managed to send word back while in Ereven that we would be returning before the New Year. If we’re to make that, keeping delays in consideration, I’ve informed the guards to be ready to leave tomorrow.”

She nodded, suddenly wanting to cry. _Too soon. Much too soon._

He lifted his hand and gingerly touched the cut on her ear that Ryone’s second had left. “Do I take it correctly that you will not be joining us beyond Buckland?”

She looked up at him, taking in a quick breath. “I didn’t know I was invited.”

He nodded, his head tilted in confusion. “I wish it more than anything, if it is what you want.”

The sudden urge to bang her head on the table and curse every Valar alphabetically hit her quite forcefully. _Why? Why do you always have to do this to me? Put something in our way, as if we didn’t have a bumpy start already?_ “Thorin, I…even if I wanted to—which I do, I promise—there’s something that I…I need to…”

His hand slid over to cover hers on the table, and her words stopped abruptly. He leaned down until their noses almost brushed. His eyes were sad, but he grinned. “You have aided me in getting rid of a threat to my kin and keeping them safe, even when there was no reward in it for you. Now is the time for you to do the same for your kin. You’ve made as much allusion to it so far that I feel as if you’ve already said it.”

She nodded, taking a leap and leaning her temple into his shoulder. “I can’t leave them. They’ll be just fine without me, but I can’t abandon them. Not when I’m the reason they’re in this predicament.”

“Cori…”

“You heard him, didn’t you?” she clipped, looking up at him. “It was _my_ association with you that made him order the invasion.”

He shook his head. “We both know he would have done it at some point anyway. He was trying to get into your head.” He gingerly took her chin between his fingers. “He is dead, Cori. Don’t let him continue to rule your life.”

As it turned out, he had been doing just that for over a decade. Old habits died hard, even when so industriously resisted. “I can’t abandon them,” she repeated.

“Then don’t. Stay. Be where you’re needed most.” Each word spoken seemed to bring him pain. “And know that I will be there. If ever there is anything you need from me, from Erebor, you only have to ask, and you’ll have it. I will make sure you’re taken care of.”

The remaining doubt about his affection dashed away quickly as she watched his beautiful eyes dart around her face. She did not want to believe it, in a shred of impulse to protect her own wounded heart, but she could not ignore it when it sat right in front of her, begging for her to accept his sincerity. And she realized that there was _nothing_ she could do against it. Logic was useless. She was completely and wholly lost to him. “It won’t be forever.”

He brightened just a little bit. “I hope not.”

Suddenly overtaken by some strange urgency, she leapt up from her seat, abandoning her mug, and held her hand out to him. “Walk with me.”

He did not hesitate to take it, sliding off the bench with cautious yet eager fluidity. When she began to drag him in one direction, he did not ask, obediently following at her pace. They weaved through the crowd, ignoring all others: her gaze was fixed forward and his remained steadily on the back of her head. It was clear to all that this was not a walk beneath the stars and in the summer breeze.

The paths leading to the smials were deserted, quiet, and dark. And still, they said nothing to each other. All the way up the hill to Bag End they trod, where they had placed all their belongings after arriving in town when Bilbo extended his home, or what was left of it, to the sons of Durin for the night. Cori pushed the unlocked round door open and, with a force she did not know she was capable of, threw him inside. She had all of a second to close the door before he was on her.

Her back hit the door jarringly from the force of his shove, but the involuntary squeak she emitted was smothered by his mouth over hers. _I meant to talk first, you oaf!_ she thought. Then she moaned into it, throaty and yearning, scraping her nails through his beard. He snarled and rolled his hips against her, large hands clamped tightly onto hers. All her senses fell away, traveling through a tunnel that led solely to him. The roughness of his scruff, the strength in his hands on her waist, the feathery wisps of his hair tickling the sides of her face and neck. She could not focus on where her hands were, only that they held onto him with the conviction of a dying man. And dying she had been indeed. The kiss was not enough; she needed to drown in him.

He bent down and slid his hands around the backs of her thighs, hoisting her up until their faces were level. Her spine returned to the door, and with the steadiness it brought, she suddenly felt those hands travel beneath her skirts that had ridden up. Her bare skin rejoiced in the familiar warmth, the soothing rasp of the contrary texture. Finding her hands in the flurry they had gotten lost in, she brought them up to his face and pressed them to his cheeks. Their lips met again and again with near bruising force. She could feel her frantic heart trying to escape her chest.

“This dress,” he murmured, tearing away from her to lower his face to her neck. He gave her small, barely noticeable nips from her ear to her pulse and all the way down until the rest was hidden by her collar. His hands retreated from beneath the skirt, curving along her waist to stop at the ties of her bodice. The string gave with little resistance. “You are stunning in it. But without it, even more so.”

“Don’t rip it,” she gasped, flabbergasted by her ability to regain some lucidity. Her head swirled. “It’s not mine.”

He chuckled, his smirk shifting his beard against her neck and making her knees clench around his hips. “You’re asking much of me right now.” When the laces had loosened enough, he crumpled the hem up around her hips.

“Bedroom,” she panted. “No evidence. Other people live here.”

“And you believe they think we left for an evening stroll? You do not school your face well when you…desire something.”

She knew.

Once again, however, he obliged, sliding his hands beneath her bum to steady her against him as he strode down the hallway. They squeezed encouragingly as she scraped her teeth through the hair along his jaw. And then their lips met again, and she forgot where they were and what they were walking for.

He stopped in his tracks after the faint click of a door closing, greedily taking her lower pout between his teeth. A jolt traveled all the way down to her belly, and she wiggled out of his hold to sate the impulse to squirm. Even when her feet hit the floor, he did not break free from her. With the ties of her bodice loose, she shimmied her shoulders and let the dress fall to the floor. Immediately, his hands flew up to her ribs, and he growled when he found skin; the night had been too warm for an under tunic.

“So much time,” he whispered, yanking his tunic over his head and pressing her to his chest. The contact alone pulled a relieved groan from him.

“I missed you,” she replied, thrusting her fingers into his hair, grabbing generous handfuls of the thick waves, and tugging forcefully. “I missed you so much.”

“I you.” He claimed her lips again, searching for more than was physically possible. “Ceaselessly.”

He worshipped her, from her cheeks to her hips, slowly and thoroughly, until all that flooded her mind was his touch. Then her feet left the ground, and her back rejoiced at the sensation of a comfortable quilt on a bed, and the skin of her inner thighs hummed with the touch of his waist to them.

She could think only of the sweet, intoxicating bliss of being one with him again. The aches in her tired, overused muscles melted away in the burn from the heat of his body, and she could hear nothing but the blood rushing in her ears. It was manic, their coupling, desperately rocking into each other. Their voices mingled with declarations of love and exclamations of their names, loud in the quiet room. It did not last long, but never before had her rapture exploded with such force, scalding hot and devastatingly beautiful. She clung to his shoulders with all the strength in her, the sensations extended by his few final thrusts and his satisfied sobs hidden in her neck, and she could not stop quaking with the pulses of ecstasy.

Their breaths rattled for an imperceptible amount of time, bouncing softly off the walls of the house. Cori opened her eyes, blinking through a strand of his hair that lay over her nose. He covered her like a blanket, nose digging gently into the side of her throat. A grin twitched onto her lips as her blood buzzed with the afterglow of their love, and she lay her cheek on top of his head. All she wanted to do was drift away into a dreamless sleep, where her mind and body could heal.

_Finally._

She jerked violently, and her eyes flew open. Panic bombarded her heart, and it began to beat frantically. She looked around, realizing quickly that they were in the same room that their love had first been consummated in all those months ago. And then she felt him shift with a moan, as if to rise off her and roll to the side. _Oh, no,_ she thought, feeling her chest constricting painfully. She looked down at their bodies, where they were still connected, and she trembled with a sudden onslaught of shame. _I didn’t…_

Thorin tensed above her, and he lifted his head to look down at her. The sleepy satiation that once rested in his eyes hardened into concern as he watched her face contort into the indignation and horror she felt within her. “Cori, what’s wrong?”

_What has this dwarf done to me?_ she thought, more frustrated with herself. _I’d lose myself so easily?_ She gritted her teeth when she felt the angry tears trickle down into her ears _._

“Cori, talk!” Thorin demanded, rising to his elbow beside her. “Have I hurt you? Are you in pain? Tell me.”

She took in a shaky breath and shook her head. “What did we just do?”

His brow pinched, and he desperately searched her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Mahal’s beard, Thorin, we’ve just had a row lasting almost three months!” She shot up from the bed, her head nearly colliding with his. She tried to rise to her feet, but her progress fell flat when his arm curled around her waist. She resisted for a moment, trying to pry his hand off her, but, with a huff and a suppressed miserable whimper, she let him tug her into his lap. He cradled her to his chest, one arm looped over her thighs and the other curled around her shoulders. Her cheek pressed to his pec, and all fight in her left.

“Everything is all right now,” he whispered, his voice like a soothing balm.

“It’s not,” she replied in her contradictory scratching grumble. “We can’t just pick up where we left off. We are not the same as we were in April.”

“No, we are not. But that does not mean that our feelings have to change.”

“We hurt each other. We may still want each other, but that doesn’t erase the gap we created.” She lifted her head and craned her neck to see his eyes. They were calm and attentive, and she just wanted to stare for all eternity and leech all that self-assurance for herself. “I lost your trust, and no matter what, that black spot will always be there And you…well, you did what you thought was right, and I can’t fault you for trying to protect your people, but I still wish we could have talked about it more. Worked through the misunderstanding rather than ignored it altogether. Pretending I…it didn’t exist.”

A glimmer of discernment shown in his gaze, and he sighed. “We will talk now,” he said firmly, sliding on the bed without letting her go until his back sat up against the pillows and the headboard. “And we will not stop until everything is clear.” He tugged the quilt out from under him and laid it over her bare body, tucking it in around her. She was not cold in her nakedness, as he might have thought, pressed to him as she was, but she let him take care of her. When all was settled, he bent down and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. “I love you, _khajimele._ And I always will.”

She shivered with joy at hearing her name on his lips once more, and smiled into his skin. “I love you, too.”

“Good. That is the first step.” He touched her cheek with his finger. “I have forgiven you for your transgressions, and for keeping them to yourself when I had the right to know them. Fíli was correct. You were a child, one who had no proper guidance in the world you were living in. Your actions were your own, but you were deceived at a time where you were most vulnerable: I’ve witnessed your love for your brother firsthand now, and I see why you would have been driven to do such a thing for his sake. I would be hypocritical if I said I wouldn’t do the same for my own.”

“I forgot you had a brother,” she said. She knew the second son of Thráin had fallen long ago, in the battle of Moria.

“And a persuasive force they are, little brothers. Were I given the chance to see him one more time, there is very little I wouldn’t do for it.” He accepted her comforting kiss to his chin with a smile. “Now it is my turn to apologize. You said you felt abandoned?”

She shook her head. “Somewhat, but Thorin, I know now what leadership is like, even if it is nowhere near the scale of your own. I know you have to make sacrifices in order to keep everyone happy enough to cooperate, especially as a king in charge of thousands of people. I don’t blame you for making a decision when you were caught between a rock and a hard place.”

Again, he blew out a hard sigh, shaking his head. “I must confess something of my own, _amrâlimê._ And I fear I may have misled you, even deceived you, though I hadn’t any intentions to cause you pain. I will admit that I was hurt after learning that you deliberately kept your past from us, but I knew Ryone had a strong hold on you still, and you were worthy of forgiveness. There were many ways to persuade the rest of my kin to see that, too. But I felt like I should follow their example.”

She quirked a brow. “I don’t follow. You thought you should want to put me to death for murder?”

He made a frustrated noise. “I am not saying this right. And never speak of such things in front of me again. I have lain awake these past few nights, thinking of that knife going into your stomach; were it not for your armor, you may not be here now, and I would have never been able to tell you all of this and beg your forgiveness.” He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “You performed an offense toward my people and a grave one. There is no denying that. And I felt that, by forgiving you, I would be betraying my people in favor of one who had done them wrong. As their king, I thought I should take the dwarves’ side. I was startled by how much I _wanted_ to forgive you. I felt it nonsensical, illogical, and a direct product of our relationship.”

She gritted her teeth. “You felt your feelings for me clouded your judgment.”

“Yes. I thought, by separating myself from you, I would be able to make better decisions that would see the dwarves victorious in this fight. You guessed correctly: I did do it with my people in mind, but it was a tactic borne out of selfishness, because I thought, as long as I remained above reproach, things would remain peaceful. So you see, I have no right to dangle your past over your head in order to punish you, even if I wanted to do that. I did not speak to you, or explain my feelings either.”

Her fingers fidgeted with the blanket. She thought she might want to do just what he said to get back at him for the months of uncertainty he put her through. For tossing her aside at the first sign of turmoil. But that would require moving from her spot on his lap, and she was quite comfortable where she was. She was not upset, just tired, and so very ready to be done with all this riffraff.

“And then a Ranger came to Ereven,” Thorin continued, even after she thought he was done, and the soreness in his voice made her concerned. “He said he knew you, that he had met you on the road after we separated in Bree, and that you were traveling with us. I was skeptical, obviously, but he described you perfectly, with your furs and your bow. He reported that the Shire was attacked by Ryone’s men, and that he could not find you where you had been before, which we now know was your family’s home. Considering the extent of the destruction, he only assumed the worst about you.” He swallowed thickly. “I knew there was a chance you could still be alive, but I didn’t allow myself to dismiss the opposite. You would have defended your family above all else, you and your big, stout heart, and you would have fallen for them. It was a perfectly plausible outcome, and I realized that I might have lost you.”

“I wasn’t in Buckland when the attack came,” she said, hoping it would soothe the tension rising in his body. “I was in a less populated place of the Shire, training hobbits to fight after we learned we might have orcs coming up from the south, so there were fewer invaders to contend with.”

“He painted a bleak picture. I let myself take all the blame. Had I kept you in the mountain, you would have been safe. My bitterness was trivial in comparison to a world that I knew you were no longer in. Those were the loneliest weeks of my life, when I couldn’t find it in me to hope. All I could see was your dead body. And then I saw you at the battle, and I knew that I could never let you go again.”

She felt that pain, always wondering if he had not run headlong into an ambush, out of which he would not come out on the other side. He would, considering how dwarvish he was. She laid kisses along his collar bone, basking in their closeness and the lack of real injuries from the battle. One of his hands threaded through her tangled locks, the other splayed on her stomach just below her breasts, right where the knife had left a tiny nick in the skin that had already scabbed over and a bruise around it. It was a comfortable silence that followed, and she rejoiced in its return as well.

His long nose brush over her face, lips barely caressing hers. “I swear to you, Cori Houndberry, from this day onward, I will never put you second in my life ever again. Absolutely nothing will come before you: not gold, not Erebor, _nothing._ If…if you’ll have me.”

She chewed on her lip, trying not to give in to the sting in her eyes. He gently pulled it from her teeth, kissing it sweetly and reverently.

“Damn you, Thorin Oakenshield,” she whispered without malice, taking in a sniffling breath. “For taking the careful control of my emotions away from me. So annoying.”

He chuckled, laying her down on the bed and bending over her. He placed a gentle kiss on her sore ear and continued down her jawline.

Her nose twitched with displeasure despite the butterflies in her stomach as a response to their position. She pushed his chest, and he gave immediately, catching her eyes. “Am I not doing the same thing? Putting you second by staying here?”

“You are not. You are not choosing them over me. You will help your family, and then you will come back to Erebor. Or have I interpreted wrongly?”

She shook her head. “That was the plan.”

“Then we will make it a collaborative effort. I will send the funds needed to keep the Shire going through winter, and you will utilize them from here. Our interests are aligned. You are not choosing against me.”

_Mahal bless this ingenious man._ She craned her neck up, catching his lips in a decisive kiss. “I think Your Majesty has a deal.”

He grinned, a comely mixture of smugness and affection.

Tossing the quilt to the side, she looped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss that quickly intensified with need and a freshly-awoken desire. He returned it, his hair curtained around them and laying on the sheets on either side of her head. He laughed when she pressed a leg into his hip, giving to the incessant pressure and rolling with her until she sat atop him. His eyes darkened with lust at the sight of her, but his gaze was tender as it found hers. Merry. Loving.

She had never been loved so well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truths come out, and I bring back the angst. XD Didn't think it would be that easy, did you?
> 
> One more chapter. Just one more.


	37. Homeward Bound

Buckleberry looked more like home than when Cori left all those many days ago, with the mess managed and the residents hard at work with slow repairs. Yet, she could not feel it.

Maybe it _had_ been tainted by the invasion of evil from the outside, no longer separate from the tribulations that were mundane in other parts of the world. Just another unfortunate town to have been ravaged by war. But she knew, deep down, that that was not the only reason she looked at the smials and the green grass and the beginnings of gardens that would be beautiful again in a couple weeks’ time and found them disappointing and lacking.

It irked her vehemently that this place would now become almost the opposite of happiness. Her family was no burden to be borne begrudgingly. She loved them, and she could not leave them again while they struggled to rebuild their lives. They would be furious if she did. But that did not absolve the fact that this was not where she truly wanted to be, and as long as it kept her away from that, she could not be content.

She really needed to get a hold of herself. Throwing a pity party just because she found more evidence to show how the world was an unfair place? It was time to be an adult: get through and move on. She tried not to let it show as she journeyed back along the East Road from Hobbiton to Buckland. Her last few days spent with the dwarves would not be spoiled by her rotten attitude. But, in the end, the strength of her heartache came through, and she lay beside Thorin at night after the dwarves and the Buckland hobbits had all gone to sleep, her face hidden in his collar as she permitted just a few tears. No more than a few; she was stronger than that.

So when she did not feel the expected relief of a long journey’s end as they all rode into Buckleberry, greeted by their relatives and friends that were overjoyed to find no one had been lost, she was not surprised to find dread pooling in her stomach instead. This was not home anymore.

The dwarves’ reception into Buckleberry was as expected, and Cori should have done some preparation for it. But all her wisdom seemed to lie in hindsight recently. The last thing the hobbits wanted was another invasion of strange folk. If one of the dwarves looked at them the wrong way, they would surely be chasing them out of town with pitchforks and garden hoes, or so Dwalin said (he then teased that, after their display at the battle, he probably would take off running). Cori asked them to keep their heads down after inviting them to stay the night before returning to the road.

However, after the soldiers had mingled with their families once more, word began to spread about how the dwarves had helped to defeat the ones who were responsible for the attack. While they were still wary as they ever had been, the glares of contempt ceased, and Cori could breathe a sigh of relief.

She wished, for some odd, unimaginable reason, to introduce Thorin and his family to hers. She had no idea what it would accomplish. Seeking their approval? She would be with him with or without their consent. It was a move that would occur when one was striving toward marriage. That…no. Not the time to think about that. So why? Well, he was special to her, and she wanted to share that exuberance. In the end, however, she opted out of it. Her relations with her family had only begun to make improvements. At that moment, Margow and Garth were the only ones who knew, and they both were on board. The rest of them believed that the dwarves were responsible for sparking Ryone’s ire and probably did not hold them in the highest regard outside of the tolerance they showed for the visitors with the rest of the town. No, if she was not able to immediately dash for the hills afterward, it was probably not the smartest idea.

Thorin agreed. “It would be just as much of a shock to the rest of my kin, and they do not face starvation and rebuilding their homes from scratch. Best to let them have a moment to catch their breath.” He then bent down to peck her lips. “In time, I will be glad for you to introduce me.”

Cori stuck the dwarves inside a partially mended smial not far down the road from Berry Bunch Bend, courtesy of one of the hobbit soldiers. The woman politely refused payment but was eventually persuaded to take some coin for her wounded family, who stayed with relatives not far down the way while construction continued. So far, three rooms had been restored to a livable point, and the wide open space where the door used to be allowed them a cook fire in what was most likely the family room. Ion, Kard, Rukh, and Vore chose to settle down in one room. Dwalin insisted upon bunking with the princes in a second one, waggling his eyebrows at Cori. No one made any protests against the arrangement, all agreeing that the remaining two should be shoved into the room that sat on the opposite side of the house from the other rooms. Cori pressed her cheeks against the cool leather of Thorin’s jacket, poking him in the side when he chuckled.

There was no question that she would be spending this night close to the dwarves, and she had already informed her family of such an arrangement. As she sat around the fire with them, she felt a piece of something she could not explain fit back into place. It did not completely fill the hole, but she came as close to that as she had ever been. They chatted about everything: the summer heat and the evening storm brewing in the east, the battle, their families back home (though it seemed to be for the umpteenth time). When they realized that it was the original company once more, they sat in the quiet for a moment, listening to the continuous rolls of thunder in the distance, as they remembered those of their group that were not returning with them: Othor, Brur, and Vhatner, who still lay within the ground beside the Lune. Dwalin insisted the melancholy thoughts stop, as their companions would have had a fit over it, so their friendly banter revived.

Cori sat wrapped around Thorin’s arm and pressed into his side, watching them with a smile. And she felt what she expected to feel upon returning to Buckleberry. She realized that Buckland had not actually been home for quite some time, and that was all right. She had found a new one. Here, with them.

Home was not a place or a structure. It was not the ground one frequently trod. It was not walls with doors and a fireplace and comfortable furniture. It could not be seen, and so inherently was not permanent. It did not remain in the same place an entire lifetime.

To Cori Houndberry, home used to be a smial, a hole in the side of a hill with a round door and a garden constantly blooming outside of her window. It was where her parents and siblings were. It was the rolling hills between the quiet river and the wall separating them from the dark forest behind it. But that ended abruptly.

Home became the road. An endless path through beautiful mountains and open plains, filled with enough adventure to fill several volumes of books. The people were fresh and exciting. And then the danger desecrated all that. Slowly, the adventure became heartache and hunger pangs and running for her life. Always hiding, always watching her step, because sometimes, people were not at all inviting. She found refuge in the speckled grey pony that made his own home with her, quieting her disoriented mind.

Still, her previous identity disappeared, leaving her to wander the paths of Middle-earth in search of it again. For years, she pondered if she would ever actually experience what that felt like know who she was and what her purpose was. Then she accepted that it was not her lot in life, and she had better get used to it and stop pining for something that did not exist, or she would be hopelessly dispirited for the remainder of her days. And what a way to live that would be, if it could be called living.

Home had morphed into a variety of forms throughout her life, but the least suspected and overwhelmingly hilarious development came when she found a dying prince barely resisting the call of death on a battlefield reeking with it. The progress took several months, but she realized, somewhere along the way, it led her to the most compelling sense of belonging she had had in over a decade: around a campfire, discussing the pitfalls and rises of life with a group of dwarves and their king. The king with cool blue eyes and hair as long and dark as a raven’s wings.

The cantankerous old fool of a dwarf who despised her, then confided in her, then loved her. For the first time in so long, she had a path, and she liked where it led.

 _You don’t actually know what’s at the end of it,_ goaded that annoying voice as she led him by the hand into their room of the night.

 _I know it looks like this,_ she responded as she slid her arms around his wide shoulders and reached up on her toes for his lips. She knew she walked on a road homeward bound. When her journey was done, this was where she would rest.

The peaceful night became overcome by the rage of the storm that descended on the town, but it only heated the fervor between them. They kissed and touched in time with the increasing patter of rain outside the window. They growled with the thunder, and stole lustful glances in the flashes of lightning. The same frantic union was repeated as in Hobbiton, not as quickly finished but allowing them more time to enjoy those sensations, which were as fierce as the weather. Then the storm passed, and the usual night sounds took over while the fresh smell of rain crept into the room. They came together again, though their caresses were more of a savory nature than before, as if not to disturb the silence. At the end of the fourth, Cori could feel the exhaustion taking hold, and she was frightened by it. No, she needed to have him as much as she possibly could. This was their last night together. She could not waste it on sleep.

She jolted awake after dozing off only to rouse him and take him again. He did not even slip out of her before they returned to sleep.

The final time she awoke, in the same manner, she glanced toward the window and the pale blue light behind it. “No,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes against the tears. “No, it can’t be. Not yet.”

Thorin stirred when she climbed on top of him again, blinking blearily at her. He became alert when he noticed the tears in her eyes and her unrelenting repetition of “one more, just one more,” looking toward the window. He immediately fell into sync with her, kissing her with vigor, longing and sorrow mingled together.

The two made love once more as the sun rose over the recovering town of Buckleberry, prolonging the inevitable, but relishing in the moment and creating memories to sustain them.

What rubbish. The memories would make it worse.

          *********************

They had to be off as soon as possible.

Cori leaned against the doorframe of the house, wrapping her shawl around her tightly against the chill of the early crisp morning. Her eyes followed the dwarves as they arranged their bags and belongings onto their ponies. There was not much left. Food enough to get to Bree, where they would stock up again to avoid taking directly from the Shire. Then their weapons, obviously, freshly sharpened from the night before and hungry to bite into any of the orcs that continued to roam along the East Road. A bedroll, rain cloaks, and extra clothes. They looked ready for another adventure. Only, without her this time.

After checking his cinch one more time, Fíli left his pony and approached her. He gave her a strained, yet playfully disapproving look. “You’re sulking.”

“Am not,” she replied with a stubborn pout, reaching out with a limp foot to catch him in the shin, unsuccessfully. Probably would not go over well for her bare toe anyway. “I’m trying to concentrate. Going through a list in my head to make sure you have all you need. You’d leave without a shirt on, if it wouldn’t be so obvious to everyone else.”

He chuckled, reaching out to poke her lip. “I might need somebody to stay on top of it at Erebor, then.”

“Like your mother would ever let anything like that happen.”

He slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her off the door frame. “I’m trying to change your mind, if it isn’t clear.”

She sighed into his shoulder, encircling his torso. “It’s not like I don’t want to go with you. But I want to stay, too.”

“Then I’ll stay with you,” he whispered. “Help you rebuild. You’ll need some muscle, won’t you?”

She smiled. _You barely spent a year in your new home, crazy boy._ “So will your uncle. You’ve all got a kingdom to run, remember? And that little lass of yours. You’ll keep working on that, won’t you?”

He nodded against the top of her head, “I will.” When he pulled away, fat tears sat on his long eyelashes, dropping off one at a time when he blinked repeatedly. “I will never be able to thank you enough, or repay you in any sufficient manner, for what you did. For saving my life.”

She pursed her lips. “Are you ever going to lay that down?”

“Put yourself in my shoes. I wouldn’t be here were it not for you. I would’ve never gotten to know you, and neither would Uncle. You don’t see it, Cori, how much you’ve changed him. You’ve changed all of us. And all because you couldn’t leave me there, even when you wanted nothing to do with us. Don’t think I didn’t see how much of a burden I was to you.”

There was no reason to defend herself. Frankly, there was nothing to defend. He hit the mark.

“And now…” He lifted his hand to touch the mark on her ear. “You’ve bled, and you bear scars that you received for our sake. Mahal, if _that’s_ what comes of keeping your allies so close, there can’t be anything more important in this world.”

She watched his face, struck by the weight behind his words. Every one of them was aimed at her, and he meant it all. Was there any better compliment from a dwarf than that?

“And we aren’t the only ones that have changed,” he said with a wink, delicately brushing the courting braid tucked behind her ear with his finger.

“I guess I have you to thank for that, and your awful misfortune.”

“I’ll be glad for the way that battle ended every day.”

She walked out toward the ponies, grasping his hand tightly. Their feet shuffled in the grass, calling Kíli’s attention from adjusting the bridle on his pony. He turned, the steadiness he had had in his face all morning crumpling. He sniffed into her neck, squeezing her with everything he had. “Thank you,” he mumbled, the true words he wanted to say remaining in reserve as usual. It was a good thing he had such a readable face.

“You’re very welcome,” she giggled, ruffling his wild hair. She did not know what he was thanking her for specifically, and she felt it was misplaced on her, but she gave him the answer he looked for. “Tell your mother I said hello for me, yeah?”

He nodded, his throat working. “Only a little while,” he said with difficulty, placing a kiss on her cheek. He held little resolve to save face, his breath hitching with a painful sob. She lifted up to kiss the tears off his face, flicking his nose. She received a choked laugh in return, and just what she wanted.

“Only a little while,” she repeated. “But it’ll go by so quick. You’ll be so busy playing prince, you won’t even notice I’m gone.”

He shook his head, sweeping the heel of his hand across his face. “Impossible.”

With any luck, he would always think of her in that light, and not by the other things she had done. So far, he had held her high, but a dreaded day might come when he finally arrived to his senses. He and his brother both. She could never bear that.

Each of the other dwarves received a hug and a promise to write. Ion especially requested Shire recipes, wanting to know how she received her “magic touch.” She promised him with a laugh, though she warned him that it may not be the same since she would not be able to handle the ingredients.

“Good. They won’t be so full o’ ground-sproutin’ stuff that you can’t fit the venison and the pork in it.”

Dwalin took hold of her with the tenderness one would not expect from somebody of his stature and strength. He inhaled into her hair once, soothingly rubbing a thumb along the back of one shoulder. She did not feel the same peace and relaxation in it as the others, but above all else, she knew she would be safe there. As he cupped the back of her head and laid his brow against hers, she knew he would make sure of it, no matter what.

“Come back to us, sweetheart. Or I’ll find you in whatever shape you’re in and bring you back myself.”

She giggled, suddenly choking on tears as she felt his hand grasp hers. “Deal.”

That was all that needed to be shared. There was so much not said, but it would not lose its impact if it remained just that way. They had, and always would have, that understanding: life was cruel, and you did what you had to do to survive it. They were survivors. And that was that.

She let go of him with one last parting glance into his eyes, walking to the pony at the front of the group. Thorin remained out of the way as the rest of them said their piece to her; they had exchanged their goodbyes as they lay on their shared bed that morning, skin cooling from their last indulgence in their love. When she stood before him, he reached up to thread his fingers into her dark hair, brushing his thumb over the braid along the way. She thought that he would lean in for a kiss, but he instead lay his head on hers as well. She grabbed his coat for something to hold onto, possibly for leverage if she needed him closer. The silence was soothing enough to fall asleep to, and she thought about what it had felt like to do just that curled into his side the night before.

“I will write as often as I can,” he said quietly, eyes closed in the same bliss she felt. “Look for my raven. He might get lost the first few times.”

She snickered. “Taking directions from you, I can believe it.”

He huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. When he pulled back, his hand remained on her cheek: the thumb brushed the corner of her nose as his little finger lay over the top of her spine. His lips twitched a little, caused by some kind of thought he had as he studied her face. “We will rebuild what we lost.”

He could have meant anything. Erebor, the Shire. But it was clear to her that _they_ were what he was talking about. The way to accomplish that over letters with hundreds of miles in between them was lost to her, but by Yavanna, she would do everything physically and mentally possible to realize it. There was nothing she wanted more in her life. “We will.”

“And I’ll see you again.” Hope twinkled in his eye.

“You will.”

Only then did he pull her in for a kiss, stealing her breath and her will to keep the tears away and everything else she could possibly offer him. She clamped her hands on both sides of his face and pressed into him, trying to show him just that: she was his, unreservedly, for the rest of her days. He pulled away as if it caused him pain, burying his nose in her neck. “I love you.”

She smiled, threading her fingers through the black-and-silver waves falling past his shoulders. She snagged his own braid at one point, remembering the pleasure of resealing it and him doing the same for her the night before. “I love you, too.”

When he reared back, she sniffled violently, trying not to let herself break. All she could think about as her fingers lingered in his as long as possible before they ceased to touch was that the rest of this path she was on better prove itself worthwhile. She stepped back, watching him pull up onto his pony and get settled as he checked to make sure the rest of the group was ready. He held her eyes for just a little longer, knuckles white where they gripped the reins. His gaze ripped away like an old bandage stuck to a wound, and he swiftly turned his pony around to start up the road. At the very last second, she saw the sun glimmer off of a drop resting on his cheek.

 _I’ll be there soon,_ she thought as she waved to the company as they turned north to canter up the road. A breeze whipped up her skirts around her calves, and her arms hugged herself tightly once more, looking for the ghosts of his hands. She stared at the dark head at the front of the group until they turned a bend and disappeared out of sight. A smile twitched onto her face. _I’ll come home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have come now to the end.
> 
> For now.
> 
> Read the author's note.


	38. AUTHOR'S NOTE

And we've reached the end of "The Service of Hobbits." Thank you, every single one of you, for all the kudos, comments, compliments, and overall enthusiasm for this story. It's been a wild, amazing ride, and I owe the way this story evolved and shaped as I went to you. It's been the highlight of my day reading your comments and talking with you all. Writing this story from the first draft all the way to this one has been one of the greatest experiences of my life.

But, the grey ships haven't sailed just yet.

I told those of you who read the first version of this that, if you allowed me to rewrite this whole story and make it 100x better than it was to start with, that I would give you more. Well, it's time I made good on that promise. Not as if I left myself much option with the way this ended.

There will be a sequel. I will be continuing Cori's story and watching her relationship with the King Under the Mountain unfold even more. 

Now, I have a general idea of what's going to happen, but I haven't fleshed out any details since I started working on this draft of TSOH, which turned out vastly different from the original, and so did Cori. And it will certainly not be as long as this one was. But you'll have to give me a few weeks to outline it and start it. Just to make sure I get my footing, I'll put the first chapter up after I've finished the third.

And what will it be called? Look for "The Loyalty of Hobbits."

In the meantime, I'll be posting a few snippet pieces to the oneshot compilation "The Life of Hobbits" that will be about things that have taken place during this story that did not make it into the original (i.e. things from the dwarves' POV or things that were not important to the overall plot). Got something you want to see? I can't guarantee I'll write it immediately, but I wouldn't mind a few ideas to add to my long, long list (currently 26 things, most of which is stuff that takes place  _after ~~~~_ TLOH  ~~oops did I say that out loud)~~

Well, once again, thank you all for this incredible journey, and if we don't meet again, I wish you all the luck in the world. May Durin be with you.

-The Nest

 

 


End file.
